


A Boy Serves With Both

by i_feel_electric



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band), K-pop
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Daddy Kink, M/M, Name-Calling, Orgasm Control, Rimming, Romance, Smut, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric/pseuds/i_feel_electric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A son serves with his heart; a slave serves with his body; and, a boy serves with both.” - Dan McPherson</p><p>This is where he belongs. Where he feels most himself; on his knees, at Seunghyun’s feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic (aka Daddyverse: Jiyong’s Search for the Daddy of His Dreams) exists solely because GD had to wear a leather vest with nothing under it during MAMA (performing “good boy” no less) and my mind kind of went haywire, as you can see.
> 
> the main fic itself is complete, however there will be a series of (s)extras exploring their relationship (mostly bdsm-centric oneshots) and all future tags will be added as they happen, plus additional warnings posted at the beginning of every chapter (just to be safe).
> 
> endless thanks go to my dearest darlings el, emily, kyra, and bre for all the hand-holding and cheerleading and beta-ing they did for me. you’re the best. this fic would be shit without you <3

“So. There’s this guy…”

 

The amused huff Jiyong gets in response to this is expected and he smiles, leaning against his chair and lifting both hands to play with the disheveled bun at the back of his neck. He absently twirls a loose strand around his finger while he returns Dylan’s undivided attention.

 

“Yeah, there’s always a guy--”

 

“No, this one is different,” Jiyong cuts in and Dylan almost cackles.

 

“You said that about Lawrence.”

 

Smile growing wider, he shakes his head.

 

“I was wrong about Lawrence. I’m not wrong about this.”

 

“And how, pray tell, can you be so sure?” Dylan asks, tone dripping with skepticism, but obviously still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

“It’s--” Jiyong stops himself. He drops his hands into his lap and he looks up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. “You won’t believe me.”

 

“Jiyong, I’ve known you for how long? Nothing about you surprises me anymore.”

 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he grins at Dylan. “That’s fair,” Jiyong murmurs.

 

He scrunches his nose, adjusting the delicate, silver hoop of his septum piercing, and sighs, trying to decide how to go about this. There’s really no reason to be hesitant, Dylan’s one of his best friends and they’ve been through some pretty rough shit together over the years. Not that this is particularly heavy or anything. But maybe Jiyong’s hedging will show Dylan that he’s not just fucking around.

 

“I guess it started two months ago,” he begins slowly, one of his knees bouncing as he stitches his thoughts together and speaks at the same time. “I first noticed him at Lucky’s when we were there with Monica for Theo’s birthday, you remember?” Dylan nods. Jiyong fidgets some more, laughing uneasily. “Actually ‘noticed’ is kind of the wrong word, it was more like a punch in the gut.”

 

Which may or may not be a bit of an understatement. He still remembers, quite vividly, how it felt to make eye-contact with the beautiful stranger on the other side of the bar. How everything seemed to pause for a few agonizing seconds. His breath hitched and his mouth went dry; an ungodly heat crawling beneath his skin. Jiyong squirms a little at the memory and clears his throat.

 

“I couldn’t stop staring,” he continues, brows furrowing. “And not even because he was gorgeous, it’s that--” His fingers grasp at the air for a word he can’t find. “That weird energy that older men have, you know what I mean? It’s why I don’t waste my time with younger guys, they just don’t have that perfect, intangible _thing_. I can’t even begin to describe it. Like, I don’t give a shit how masculine you are, a twenty-five year old otter isn’t going to have the same flavor as a guy in his forties.”

 

Jiyong slumps further into his seat when he finishes, the tip of his shoe knocking against the leg of the kitchen table while he nibbles on a fingernail. It’s silent for a moment, but he can feel the weight of Dylan’s concentration.

 

“I can’t believe you just said ‘otter’ without laughing,” Dylan notes, letting out a slight giggle.

 

“I’ve matured.”

 

“Oh, I doubt that.”

 

Jiyong’s middle finger rises stiffly in front of his face and Dylan scoffs, kicking at his foot under the table, making him jerk away and snuffle into his palm. His lips twitch upwards as he settles his hands over his stomach. Jiyong knows his friend is still waiting for him to get to the point and he feigns nonchalance, not quite meeting Dylan’s gaze.

 

“Anyway, I see him all over the place now. At The Playground, at Sage, even at Piston.”

 

The third one was a pleasant surprise, something he’d secretly been hoping for, and he has to laugh when Dylan asks the same thing he asked himself.

 

“Leather daddy?”

 

“Not sure.”

 

A small frown tugs at Dylan’s mouth. “Have you talked to him?”

 

“No,” Jiyong answers quietly.

 

“Jiyong.”

 

“I can’t yet.”

 

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘you can’t yet’?” Dylan demands, lurching forward with arms outstretched and imploring like his exasperated tone wasn’t enough.

 

Jiyong fiddles with his septum piercing again. “This is what I was talking about when I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

 

“ _Well_?”

 

There’s an anxious wobble in his stomach and he groans, wondering why he even brought this up because it’s...god, it’s so stupid. He’s not usually one to fall victim to fantasy, and maybe this is and maybe this isn’t, but saying it out loud, putting it out into the universe? Jiyong can’t imagine many things more terrifying.

 

He stalls, gaze flitting around the kitchen. From the fading afternoon light pouring in through the window to the worn dish towel hanging over the faucet; the magnetic poetry scattered across the refrigerator door and the untouched cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Eventually Jiyong turns his focus back to Dylan, studying the soft, familiar curves of his face. The concern lurking underneath the impatience. He chews on his lip.

 

“Let me just preface this by saying that I am well aware of how crazy I sound.” Jiyong blows out a small, uneasy laugh when Dylan smiles at that. Shifting on the chair, he tilts his head back, eyes closing. This time he doesn’t overthink, just allows the words to form on his tongue without filter.

 

“Whenever I see him, I get this really warm, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Which I _know_ is equal parts attraction and wanting. But with it comes this feeling of certainty that if I approach him, if I speak to him, there’s no turning back. There’s no walking away. It’s game over.” Jiyong’s voice fades and the kitchen goes quiet again save for the muffled noises outside. He breathes in slowly, lifting his head to find Dylan watching him with his chin in his hand. “Am I insane?”

 

Dylan hums. “Maybe a little bit.”

 

Jiyong shoots him a mild glare and then realizes that he’s grinning. Because he’s at a loss; can’t figure out how else to explain himself. He tries anyway.

 

“You get vibes from people, your instinct tells you things. My instinct tells me this guy is the pot of gold at the end of the fucking rainbow.”

 

With a loud snort, Dylan retreats and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t say anything, but Jiyong doesn’t need him to--can read how entertained he is by the glimmer in his eyes. Making him understand was probably a longshot. Jiyong’s not even positive he understands it himself.

 

“Dylan, he looks at me like he’s just _waiting_.” Jiyong laughs again sort of desperately, hands rubbing at his thighs and legs closing because there’s a tendril of arousal unfurling in his gut. “For me to break, for me to get down on my knees, where I belong, and beg for Daddy’s big, fat cock.”

 

The way Dylan’s expression crumples when he cracks up is priceless. “God, I love you,” he wheezes.

 

“I know,” Jiyong murmurs happily, raising his arms above his head. “But, dude, I’m infatuated, what am I supposed to do?”

 

“Better get on your knees,” Dylan chuckles.

 

He glances down at his crotch and whines, “Please don’t. I’m already half hard thinking about this shit.”

 

Another round of choked laughter meets his ears, Dylan breathing deep to try and regain some composure. He wipes at his eyes and sniffs. “You remember where the bathroom is, don’t you,” he says, lips trembling.

 

“Actually that’s not a bad idea.”

 

Jiyong stands, shoving Dylan in the shoulder on his way out, and huffs gently when he can still hear the asshole giggling to himself.

 

“But make it quick, man. I wanna stop at that Mediterranean joint down the street before we rendezvous with the boys,” Dylan yells after him just as he shuts the bathroom door.

 

Right. _The boys_. He almost forgot they were going out tonight. Jiyong thinks about the possibility of seeing his Daddy Crush again and his cock responds instantly, straining against the confines of his jeans. Quick definitely isn’t going to be a problem. Crouching down to open the cabinet under the sink, Jiyong grabs a bottle of lube from Dylan’s stash.

 

“Jesus,” he sighs, actually coming to terms with the fact that he’s about to step, fully clothed, into his friend’s shower just so he can jerk off.

 

Jiyong rises and pushes aside the curtain to climb inside. Then he places the bottle at the edge of the tub, popping the button on his cut-offs and lowering the zipper before easing them a little further down his hips. His underwear goes next, Jiyong staring critically at his dick as it flops out, and he shakes his head. Not because he’s embarrassed or ashamed, but because he’s ridiculous. And clearly needs to get laid if he can’t even bring Daddy Crush up without getting a hard-on. The image of the man’s hands on his body automatically jumps into his mind. His hot mouth, his teeth, his tongue. Jiyong gnaws at his bottom lip and it gets worse when he starts thinking about those fingers leaving bruises on his skin.

 

“Goddamnit,” he mutters, almost knocking a row of bottles over in his scramble to reach the lube, and pours some into his palm. Jiyong’s mouth falls open when he works it onto his cock, breath leaving him in a single shuddery burst as he pumps his hand. His palm drags over the head every few upstrokes and achieving full hardness is far too easy when his imagination takes control. He fantasizes about Daddy Crush’s fingers wrapped around his neck while he rams his cock into Jiyong’s ass. About Daddy Crush holding him down and fucking his mouth like he owns it. He wants to be gazed at by those intense, brown eyes and see them full of pride and adoration. To be told what a good boy he is.

 

This last thought is what sends Jiyong spiraling over the edge and he comes with a low groan, the sound echoing against the walls as his hips jerk into the tight grip of his fist.

 

“Well done! Gold star!” Dylan calls while he passes by the door. “Can we go now?”

 

Jiyong laughs pretty hard, slumping into the tiles. The combination of laughter and orgasm leave him a touch lightheaded and he closes his eyes. He takes a moment to return to himself, immediately feeling the same hollow satisfaction he always does after beating off to thoughts of the older man. Because he wants it to be real. But in order to make that happen he kind of needs to talk to him first. _No problem, right?_ Jiyong sighs and grabs one of Dylan’s washcloths to clean up. When his jeans are buttoned again, he steps out of the shower and turns it on to rinse the tub clean too.

 

At the very least, he can get drunk and dance himself into exhaustion tonight and deal with his shit another day. “Mmm, because that always works so well,” he mumbles.

 

Shutting the water off, Jiyong walks out.

  
  


*

  
  


Jiyong likes that he defies categorization. He likes watching people stare at him, trying to figure out where he fits. If he fits. All the visible parts of who he is adding up to something different depending on who’s looking. The tattoos, the piercings, the gauged ears, and the long hair. Some days when he gets dressed, it feels like putting on armor. Others, like sliding into a second skin. And still, the only time he feels truly at home is when he’s surrounded by his friends. They’re like some weird clan of gay misfits, because none of them really slot perfectly into the stereotypes. Square pegs in round holes. It’s the most apparent whenever they go to Sage, one of those dimly lit, upscale cocktail bars usually packed with the men who have money and the ones who pretend they do. They don’t have money and they don’t pretend to, but once in a while they’ll get fancy and dolled up and spend too much on a few rounds of drinks. Because it’s fun. Because they just got paid and they don’t have to regret it until the end of the month. Tonight is one of those nights and Jiyong intends to enjoy it after a week of nothing but working his ass off.

 

He’s also trying to distract himself from the disappointment of not having seen Daddy Crush in a while. Whenever the older man is absent, Jiyong wonders what it is he does when he’s not just standing around in bars looking like sex on legs. Although to be fair, he’s seen him do more than just stand. Like breathe. And smile in a way that makes his stomach hurt. Jiyong frowns into his glass of vodka and knocks the entire thing back in one gulp.

 

“Heyyy, take it easy, tiger. What’s the rush?” Theo asks, chuckling as he pries the empty glass from Jiyong’s fingers.

 

They’re sitting at one of the round booths against the far wall, patterned velvet soft under his hand. The chatter of other voices swells over low, bass-heavy music that pulses from hidden speakers.

 

“He’s upset because his Daddy isn’t here,” Dylan supplies.

 

Theo’s dark eyes widen comically. “Excuse me?”

 

“He’s not my Daddy.”

 

“But he could be, if you stopped being such a dumbass.”

 

Jiyong elbows Dylan in the side, a surprised laugh forced out of him when Dylan retaliates by pinching one of his nipples through the material of his button-up. But their play-fighting is cut short--Theo gripping Jiyong’s arm and giving him a wounded look.

 

“How could you keep this from me?”

 

“Would you chill out?” Jiyong sighs. He sinks back into the curve of the booth, both of his friends eyeing him, one expectant and the other smirking like a little shit. He smacks Dylan in the shoulder for good measure. “It wasn’t an actual... _thing_ , until recently.”

 

“Define ‘thing’,” Theo says, words precise.

 

Of course Jiyong fidgets, folding his arms and refusing to meet either of their gazes. It’s not like he didn’t know this was coming. And it’s not like he was intentionally trying to keep it from Theo, either. He just didn’t think he needed to go around broadcasting exactly how pathetic he is to everyone he knows.

 

“We’ve been eye-fucking each other for two months,” Jiyong mutters, carefully glancing up to see Theo regarding him with the same brand of exasperation Dylan had employed before. Just silent. And with more judgement. “Don’t even start, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

 

“You knew about this?” Theo asks Dylan.

 

“He told me last week.”

 

While Jiyong’s friends bicker about his apparent lack of loyalty, he motions the waiter over and orders another round of drinks for all of them. Theo is an angel, for once, by not trying to squeeze any more information out of him, and conversation transitions to the usual. Work, sex, Jiyong’s upcoming return to grad school. The latter has him knocking back drinks again, resulting in Dylan and Theo’s hysterical laughter because they were both smart enough to avoid giving themselves a second lifetime of debt. He takes it all in stride. The mellow buzz he has going on makes it a hell of a lot easier.

 

Though no amount of alcohol in the world is enough to prepare him for the moment he turns towards the front of the bar and spots the object of his affections near the door, having just entered with his flock of equally well-groomed companions. _God, here we go_.

 

It’s difficult to swallow, Jiyong’s collar suddenly too tight around his throat. With unsteady hands, he reaches up to readjust it; smoothes out imaginary wrinkles from his clothes in case the older man looks over. He neglects to alert his friends right away, needing to savor this--to drink him in gradually while he can, and Jiyong’s mind immediately clouds with horrible ideas. Like how he wants to run his fingers through the man’s short, slightly unkempt hair and make it messier. Kiss the peppering of silver at his temples, his heavy brows, the corners of his eyes crinkled in laughter, and the dimple indenting that golden smile.

 

An all too recognizable warmth pools in his gut and Jiyong sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.  He can’t go any further, the sharp cut of the older man’s jaw and the elegant column of his neck inviting thoughts that always get him into trouble.

 

“That--” Jiyong clears his throat. “That’s him.”  He shrinks in his seat a little and lets his gaze drop to the table. “Standing by the door. The one in the black dress shirt.”

 

After a pronounced beat, two different sets of hands latch onto him at the same time, but it’s Theo who speaks first.

 

“Do you seriously not know who that is?” Theo hisses.

 

His head jerks up, confused. “And you do?”

 

Theo stares at him like he can’t quite grasp how it’s possible for Jiyong to be this dense.

 

“Jiyong, that’s the guy who owns the swank as fuck gallery downtown. You know, the one that had the sculpture you were obsessed with for weeks.”

 

He sits up, things sort of piecing themselves together, and his eyebrows scrunch as he lets this detail sink in. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes, seriously. Holy shit,” Theo utters, collapsing, stunned, against the back of the booth.

 

“Do you know his name?”

 

“‘S’ something? I don’t know how to say it.”

 

Amazingly enough, it’s Dylan who provides the answer.

 

“Seunghyun.”

 

“How the fuck do _you_ know that?” Theo demands, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

 

Dylan just laughs, leaning across Jiyong to rub affectionately at Theo’s shaved head. “Because I’m not uncultured swine.”

 

“Oh fuck off, you pretentious, hipster trash.”

 

As much as Jiyong loves listening them act like children, he happens to notice the man in question and his party of three start to migrate in the direction of their table. “Guys, shut up, he’s walking,” he grits out, reaching for his glass and emptying it in a last ditch effort to kill the violent fluttering inside of his stomach.

 

It doesn’t work. If anything, the flutter only ratchets up a few dozen notches as he watches Seunghyun’s eyes drift towards where he’s sitting. Jiyong freezes in place, breath forcing its way in and out of his lungs. Their gazes clash, almost in slow-motion, and he has to stop breathing altogether. He registers, vaguely, the movement beside him when Dylan goes to take his tumbler of whiskey, or the way Theo twists when he removes his phone from his back pocket, pretending like they’re not paying attention. But it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t, since Seunghyun isn’t looking at them, he’s looking at Jiyong--eyes bright and unreal, lips twitching into a knowing smirk. Every time this happens, he feels he should be bowing his head in deference. Out of respect. Out of a desire to submit. He thinks Seunghyun must be able to sense this, because something in his expression changes and Jiyong’s heart lodges itself in the back of his mouth.

 

But, like a spell being broken, the moment passes--Seunghyun and his companions sliding into a table somewhere behind them. His mouth opens and the air trapped inside tumbles out of him in a long sigh. _Fucking hell_.

 

Dylan leans into him, voice soft with worry when he asks, “Dude, are you okay?”

 

“Does he look okay to you?” Theo snaps.

 

“Cut it out, I’m fine.” Jiyong shrugs Theo’s hand off and smiles, even though he knows it’s far from convincing. He rubs his hands on his pants, a jittery surge of nerves tingling through him that he has no idea what to do with. Foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, Jiyong exhales a poor imitation of a laugh and turns to Dylan. “Do you understand what I was getting at?”

 

Dylan pauses in thought, the curve of his lips sly and teasing when he looks at Jiyong, blue eyes alight with wry humor.

 

“I have a feeling he probably wouldn’t mind if you went over there and got down on your knees right now.”

 

Jiyong scowls and hits him in the chest. “Fuck you, this is serious.”

 

“I’d be over there giving Daddy a fucking lap dance if it meant he’d look at me like that for five damn seconds,” Theo drawls, focusing somewhere in the distance, and Jiyong is certain he’s staring at the older man. “You said this had been going on for two months?”

 

“Give or take.”

 

Relaxing into the plushness of the booth, Theo pins him with a pointed look--one he thinks isn’t wholly unwarranted--and he can’t help but chuckle.

 

“There is legit something wrong with you.”

 

“Thank you,” he replies graciously, patting Theo on the knee. “I know.”

 

They all laugh then, Jiyong hazarding a glance over his shoulder and regretting it when he finds Seunghyun zeroed in on him. His amusement fades and so does his smile, cheeks heating as he whips back around and jams a fingernail into his mouth. “Can we split? I can’t handle this,” he mumbles.

 

Dylan nods, emptying his glass before easing up to stand. “Just let me piss first.”

 

Relief settles on top of the nerves and Jiyong flashes Theo a slightly manic grin, chewing on a different fingernail when the first one is bitten down to almost nothing. They’re quiet for a time. Theo taps away at his phone while Jiyong listens to bar sounds and lets his mind get tangled up in thoughts of Seunghyun; knows what he should do, what he _wants_ to do, but still lacks the balls to do it. _Soon_ , he thinks. Because something is going to make him crack, he just has no idea what that is yet.

 

Theo’s low tenor reclaims his attention a few minutes later.

 

“He’s still watching, by the way.”

 

“That’s--” Jiyong huffs, shaking his head and tugging on his collar that still feels too tight. The nerves return tenfold. He really didn’t need to hear that. “Great. Thank you.”

 

Theo smiles widely, because he’s enjoying this, and sets his phone aside. “So what’s the deal?” he asks, concentrating solely on Jiyong. “He hasn’t approached you?”

 

Articulating this part is never easy. People either get it, or they don’t. Theo could fall into either category, their discussions on kink have been pretty limited despite the length of their friendship.

 

“He can’t.” Jiyong peers out across the room, unseeing. “It has to be me. That’s how this works.”

 

“I’m not following.”

 

Theo’s confusion bleeds into his voice and Jiyong is slow to look him in the eye.

 

“I’ll explain later,” he murmurs, not disappointed, but not necessarily ecstatic either. Then the edges of his mouth quirk and Jiyong squints at his friend. “In the meantime, I need you to tell me everything you know.”

 

Smirking, Theo reaches over to squeeze Jiyong’s hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got plenty to tell.”

 

When Dylan returns, they pay their tab and leave. Jiyong doesn’t seek out Seunghyun’s watchful gaze again, but he swears he can feel those eyes glued to him until the moment they disappear through the door.

  
  


*

  
  


Theo works in the admissions office of his alma mater, a small fine arts school not far from the cafe Jiyong waits tables at. This is why he ends up being such a wealth of useful information. Information that makes Jiyong feel notably guilty for not participating in their community beyond keeping his favorite watering holes in business. Because apparently Seunghyun isn’t just the owner of a ‘swank as fuck’ gallery. Actually, Jiyong’s head is still sort of spinning from Theo listing off all the details. Forty-one, an accomplished artist--though he’s been inactive for a number of years. A community leader, an activist. He holds fundraisers for local organizations and charities throughout the year, every year. Most of them LGBTQ oriented, but not always. He’s like some fucking big, gay superhero, and Jiyong is positive that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Jiyong is also positive that he couldn’t be more attracted to another human being even if he tried.

 

All of these pieces roll around in his head for the rest of the weekend. Through most of the week, too, until Jiyong finally loses the battle with his conscience and spends his entire Thursday night drinking beer and mining Google for more info. He reads articles, interviews, even things that only mention Seunghyun’s name in passing. But it’s around two o’clock in the morning that Jiyong realizes he’s really gone off the deep end.

 

He’s staring at this photograph, from a piece in an online art mag exploring the gallery’s history. Seunghyun stands in the middle of the frame, enormous abstract paintings filling the wall behind him, the open space awash with the natural light pouring in through the windows. He’s wearing a simple, gray v-neck, black jeans, shoes that look more expensive than Jiyong’s rent. Jiyong would be lying if he said he didn’t take five or ten minutes to ogle his incredible, toned body. It’s just, that’s not what really gets him. No, what gets him is the way the photographer captured Seunghyun mid-laugh--the man bent over slightly from the force of it. Features a little fuzzy, one arm loosely wrapped around his own waist. It’s such a heart-wrenching sight that Jiyong lifts his hand and extends a finger and traces the image of Seunghyun’s sunburst face like he’s some love-struck pre-teen. Which, to be fair, he kind of is. He feels like he is.

 

Slanting his eyes to the right, he notices all six of the empty beer bottles on the coffee table and snorts loudly. At himself.

 

“One too many, Ji,” he mumbles, tired, and scrubs both hands over his face. Jiyong should never drink and pine, it’s a terrible combination.

 

Even so, he curls up on the couch, spending his last moments of consciousness wondering what Seunghyun’s laughter might sound like when it’s Jiyong who inspired it.

  
  


*

  
  


Few things make Jiyong happier than being on the dance floor. Or really just dancing in general. It’s another one of those attributes that confuse people, like how he knows the words to every Top 40 hit from the last three decades by heart. He supposes this is the only part of the stereotype that fits. But, honestly, he’s having too much fun to give a shit.

 

Multi-colored lights sweep across the large room, the thump of some remixed house track vibrating up through Jiyong’s feet and collecting in his chest. He grins broadly as he moves--eyes closing, limbs fluid, sweat dripping down his neck. The Playground is overflowing tonight, just the way he likes it. Because the energy is better. Because it’s easier for him to get lost. It’s also easier to get groped, but he’s not really about to start complaining. He enjoys the attention. Despite it never being the one person he craves attention from most. Jiyong has no idea if Seunghyun is even here. Or where his friends went, what time it is. He’s too far gone.

 

As the night progresses, the crowd shifts, faces change, and Jiyong still remains in the thick of it. He’s not tired, more drunk on endorphins and good beats than anything. But it’s so hot that it feels like the air is solid and he has to push through to the edge of the crowd to take a break. Unsticking his tank-top from his body, he shakes it out, the low-cut arm holes doing very little to keep him cool. Jiyong contemplates removing it altogether, lifting the hem to wipe his face off. Except he freezes mid-action when his gaze catches on a familiar figure about ten feet away.

 

 _There you are_.

 

Seunghyun leans against the bar lining the wall, posture relaxed and almost lazy. Feline. Like he might as well be in his own living room. He’s talking with a man Jiyong only vaguely recognizes. It’s hard to tell because he tends to suffer from severe tunnel vision whenever they’re in the same room. Tonight is no different and Jiyong lets himself stare, inhaling deeply to help calm the erratic beating of his heart. Though his body is too awake now--hyper-aware of the distance and how few steps it would require to close it. The feeling amplifies when Seunghyun turns his head a moment later, finding Jiyong instantly, like he knew exactly where he’d be. Which implies that the man had already been watching him for an indeterminate length of time.

 

Jiyong forgets for a second where he is or what he’s doing or that he’s still holding his shirt up, distracted by the way Seunghyun arches an eyebrow in silent greeting and smiles. Just this gentle, pleased curve to his lips. He starts to smile back, but then Seunghyun’s eyes dip lower and that’s when he remembers. _God, I’m an idiot_. Jiyong’s blush is inhuman.

 

Quickly, he drops the soaked material of his tank-top like it’s on fire and giggles, swiping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Seunghyun seems to think this is somehow adorable, judging by his amused expression; the traces of fondness. Jiyong ducks his head because it’s too much and he can’t deal. Doesn’t know how to deal.

 

Shaking his shirt out again, he realizes how awkward this is--standing in dead space between the bar and the dance floor while Seunghyun watches. He’s pretty much lost count of the number of times they’ve reached this point. Always reaching, never passing. Jiyong tries not to think about what it means that Seunghyun has been so patient. Because this wordless dynamic they have going on kind of freaks him out. Which is why he always hesitates.

 

A twinge of nervousness echoes in Jiyong’s stomach and his muscles tense, like he’s either about to move forward or move back; the things he wants fighting against his indecision and his cowardice. Glancing up at Seunghyun is the opposite of helpful, now that his expression is soft and open and inquisitive. Jiyong almost chooses to finally answer the question. It’s just that Theo appears out of nowhere in exactly the same moment.

 

“Jiyong!” Theo shouts above the music, arms held high as he works his way over from the other end of the bar.

 

The pungent aroma of cigarettes and tequila assault his nose when Theo nearly tackles him to the floor and he laughs, dispelling all the tension from his body.

 

“Where the fuck have you been? Dylan said he thought you left.”

 

“Where do you think?” Jiyong half-shouts back.

 

“Shakin’ that ass,” Theo declares, more radiant than the disco ball above their heads. He places his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders and starts directing him backwards into the crowd. “And I’m about to wear that ass out.”

 

He releases a full blown cackle in response, letting Theo push him. Letting the thunderous bass envelop him again and take over. Jiyong admits that he’s happy for the diversion, because then he doesn’t have to think about how fucking lame he is. But before he can start moping, Theo draws him close, his long arms draped over Jiyong’s shoulders, and they dance. Jiyong leans back against Theo’s chest, dissolving into more giggles when his hands are stolen and waved around in the air. It’s the kind of silliness he needs to balance out the intensity of Seunghyun. Or the intensity of whatever bizarre pull they have on each other. Which is why Jiyong can never ignore him, attention frequently straying towards the bar to find him through the spaces between bodies.

 

Deciphering Seunghyun’s mood is difficult in the darkened club--flashing lights and nameless faces obscuring his vision. Yet Jiyong can’t escape the force of his scrutiny. Can’t shake that urge in his limbs to move closer, to be in his space, to surrender. When their gazes meet, he takes in a deep breath and slips free of Theo’s grasp. The song changes, Jiyong stills. Theo shouts over the music again but he’s not listening.

 

Seunghyun cocks his head to the side and a slow grin blooms on his face while they stare at each other. A grin that might seem innocuous to most. Friendly, even. Jiyong knows better.

 

_What are you waiting for?_

 

His heart trips in his chest in answer, the added vibrations of the bass making it feel a bit like dying. He watches Seunghyun say something, replying to the man beside him, but his sharp focus remains. It always does. And again Jiyong wants to crack.

 

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Theo demands, surprising him.

 

Seunghyun fades into his periphery and Jiyong blinks, coming back to himself. He hopes the nervous squeak of his laughter gets drowned out by the music.

 

“Sorry,” Jiyong shouts. “I spaced.”

 

The look Theo gives him is rife with suspicion, his eyes narrowed into slits even though his lips are twitching.

 

“He’s here, isn’t he.”

 

Jiyong smirks. “Maybe.”

 

Barking out a laugh, Theo grabs him by the shoulders. “You should stop torturing yourself!”

 

“I just need a little more time.”

 

For a moment, Theo stands there searching his face for something, he doesn’t know what. Maybe some kind of clue as to what’s going through his head. Jiyong wouldn’t even know how to express any of it, anyway, and he attempts to change the subject, beginning to sway his hips gently to the beat. Patting Theo’s cheek, Jiyong offers him a big smile. “Don’t worry about me so much.”

 

“Easier said than done, sweetheart,” Theo replies, flicking one of his eyebrows up and returning to his usual energetic self without much effort.

 

When they dance now, Jiyong tries to give himself over to the music and nothing else. It helps that Theo insists on behaving like a moron, most songs spent with them doubled over in hysterics. But regardless of how much fun he’s having, there’s that pinprick of awareness at the edge of his thoughts reminding him who’s watching. Because Jiyong can’t help but seek Seunghyun out at the bar. Because Jiyong has no intentions of fooling himself anymore, and when he moves his body, he moves it with a purpose.

 

Given the fact that he keeps catching glimpses of Seunghyun’s appreciative gaze, Jiyong thinks he probably got the message across loud and clear.

  
  


*

  
  


The following Monday, Jiyong wakes up at seven o’clock in the morning with the mother of all hangovers. They didn’t even go out to the bars last night, just bummed around at Dylan’s playing board games while making all of his wine magically disappear. Jiyong must’ve had at least two bottles. Possibly less, but the details are muddled and his head feels like it’s being attacked by a fucking sledgehammer.

 

Jiyong wants to destroy everything.

 

Except he can’t, because he has to be at work by nine, which is going to be painful on levels that no amount of caffeine can remedy.

 

“Nnngh, c’ffee,” Jiyong groans into his pillow.

 

He has a coffee machine in the kitchen, but it was a gift from Theo and it has too many goddamn buttons. They also sell coffee at the restaurant, but that involves showing up early and under no circumstances is that something he’s prepared to do right now. So Jiyong fights his way out of bed and into the shower, because finding the strength to leave his apartment is obviously a far more pressing issue.

 

Laziness sets in before he even finishes brushing his teeth. Luckily the dress code at the cafe is relatively nonexistent and he feels no remorse when he opts for comfort over style, pulling on a pair of worn jeans and a loose t-shirt. His hair, he stuffs into a beanie, unwilling to deal with making it look presentable. And the only shoes he can find are the beat-up Keds his sister got him for Christmas last year, which he slides onto his feet before he can think of a reason not to.

 

Shuffling into the kitchen, Jiyong downs a couple of aspirin, then latches onto the fraying threads of his motivation and finally walks out the door.

 

The bus usually takes about twenty minutes, but he trudges off a few stops late because there’s a fancy coffee shop on the corner. He’s been here once or twice and this particular morning he’s not above paying too much money for someone else to do all the work for him. Jiyong plays with the strap of his bag while he waits in line, trying not to look at anyone directly in case they think he wants to murder them. Which, at the moment, might not be too far from the truth if the line doesn’t start moving any fucking faster.

 

He orders the largest drip coffee on the menu and heads straight for the milk counter, placing his cup down and standing patiently next to a guy who is the only remaining obstacle between him and sanity. Said guy turns--carafe of whole milk in hand, mouth already curved in an amiable smile--and Jiyong actually feels his jaw fall open in shock. _Sweet jesus, why today?_

 

Seunghyun reigns in his own amazement a lot quicker than Jiyong does and his smile takes on a slight edge, pushing amiability into the realm of something much less benign. Jiyong can hardly think let alone conjure words, but he does notice the way Seunghyun studies him. The way the flirtatious spark in his eye diminishes and goes soft. They’ve never been quite this close before--enough to touch, enough for him to decipher the small details of Seunghyun’s features. _Your eyelashes are disgusting_. Jiyong is so overwhelmed he feels like he might puke.

 

The moment stretches; heat from the coffee seeps through the paper cup and into his fingers. But time and sense lose meaning once those gorgeous lips part and produce sound.

 

“Well, this is a surprise,” Seunghyun murmurs, his smile growing as he lets out an almost imperceptible laugh.

 

Jiyong registers the rumbling tone of his voice more than the words themselves. He’s too caught up in their proximity, the smell of Seunghyun’s cologne. It’s like a smoky gingerbread forest and Jiyong almost snorts because that’s totally ridiculous no matter how accurate it is. Still, he wavers slightly in place; has to force himself not to lean in and start huffing Seunghyun like he’s a Mr. Sketch scented marker.

 

“Have I stunned you into silence?”

 

Seunghyun’s teasing question rouses Jiyong from his stupor and he’s reminded that this is supposed to be an exchange. His face burns and he averts his eyes, but doesn’t dare let his gaze drop below Seunghyun’s shoulders. The bustling noises of the cafe seem to swell and recede around them. But it’s the mellow, almost affectionate chuckling that cuts through all things and burrows its way into the pit of his stomach.

 

Head tilting, Seunghyun reclaims Jiyong’s attention, and he comes very close to jerking away in alarm because he can’t accept that this is happening. That Seunghyun really exists even when he’s not looking.

 

“Jiyong, right?” Seunghyun continues to prod, smiling again.

 

He’s so enthralled by the dimples indenting Seunghyun’s cheeks that he needs a second to realize what was said.

 

“H-how--” Jiyong stutters and then stops, eyes flicking up to meet Seunghyun’s. His fingers pick at the rough material of his messenger bag. The heat under his skin transforms into an all-consuming flush. He swallows around the tight lump of nerves in his throat and tries again. “How do you know who I am?”

 

Seunghyun laughs in earnest now, stepping forward when another customer walks over to the counter. “I have my sources,” he admits with an impish shrug and lets go of the carafe to extend his hand into Jiyong’s space. “Seunghyun.”

 

Glancing down at the offered hand, he has to laugh as well, because it’s so incredibly surreal. Like they’ve already done this, just without the actual meeting of palms. He bites into his lip and reaches out to take it, has to trick himself, tell his brain this isn’t as profound as it wants to believe.

 

“I know,” Jiyong replies quietly, fingers curling around Seunghyun’s hand and lingering there.

 

An unsteady breath leaks from his mouth as he adjusts to the weight of contact. Seunghyun quirks a brow at him, that teasing glint never leaving his eyes. Jiyong does his very best not to jump out of his own body when Seunghyun’s thumb drags over the back of his hand and then squeezes once before withdrawing slowly.

 

In the beat that follows, he thinks about how not strange it would be if he closed the gap between them to wrap his arms around Seunghyun’s waist. Jiyong also thinks he might not be alone in that, considering how Seunghyun appears to have no interest in moving away. The scent of his cologne is stronger from here, coating the inside of Jiyong’s mouth whenever he inhales. It’s sensory overload and he has to shift on his feet, a flustered grin taking hold of his face as he goes for the carafe, pouring milk into his cup. Miraculously, he doesn’t spill anything and his hand doesn’t shake despite his everything feeling unstable as hell.

 

“You look tired,” Seunghyun notes while Jiyong picks up a lid and snaps it in place over the rim.

 

He huffs softly, rolling his shoulders and ignoring the shade of concern in Seunghyun’s tone. “Rough night,” Jiyong explains--can’t keep the dopey grin from tugging at his mouth when he gets two raised brows in response. “The product of too much wine and an intense round of Scrabble.”

 

Seunghyun’s laughter is warmth personified and Jiyong kind of hates that he knows what it sounds like now. Or that Seunghyun throws his head back a little with the force of it, eyes disappearing into nothing but joyful slits. Jiyong’s stomach twists into a knot because this is so much worse than what he imagined. Harder to withstand and probably impossible to walk away from. He watches Seunghyun calm, lifting his coffee cup to take a drink, and Jiyong rests his hip against the end of the counter.

 

When presented with the image of Seunghyun’s bobbing adam’s apple, his resolve crumbles to dust. It was inevitable, really, and Jiyong doesn’t fight it when his eyes begin to roam. He’s mindful of the attentive gaze on his face as he does, not wanting to give too much away but knowing it won’t matter, because Seunghyun would be able to read him like a fucking neon sign anyway.

 

Jiyong brings a hand up to fidget with his septum ring and lets his focus drift. It’s different when he’s looking from a distance. Safer. This is the opposite of safe. Especially when he can make out the definitions of Seunghyun’s body through the material of his t-shirt. He might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure he’s staring at some pierced nipples right now.

 

“So...I take it you work downtown?” Seunghyun asks, preventing Jiyong’s complete and utter derailment at the thought of nipple rings in conjunction with the man standing in front of him.

 

“Yeah.” Jiyong lets the word hang, spacing out again when Seunghyun’s expression changes from curious to sly. Entertained. He ducks his head and closes his eyes. “Um, I work at Rothko’s, just a few blocks up,” Jiyong continues, rubbing at the back of his neck because he’s embarrassed and probably making a horrible first impression. _You must think I’m so dumb_.

 

Seunghyun nods, both of them sipping at their coffees.

 

“And you own a gallery,” he adds with a small laugh.

 

“Correct.”

 

This seems to please Seunghyun--Jiyong making the effort to learn more about him--and the flush of his skin burns a bit hotter. He wants more of that. But he also doesn’t want to push his luck.

 

“Don’t, um--” Jiyong exhales another shaky laugh, not quite looking at him directly. “Don’t let me keep you if you need to go.”

 

He presses himself against the wall when Seunghyun manages to claim his attention again and hold it.

 

“I’m not in any hurry.”

 

“Okay.”

 

For the life of him, Jiyong can’t come up with anything else to say. Nothing that could be said here, at least, in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. Seunghyun has this tiny smirk curling at the edge of his mouth like he’s perfectly conscious of that and Jiyong wishes he wasn’t suddenly so incapable of having a conversation.

 

But then Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise and scrunch together slightly as he fusses with the cup in his hands. “Unless you are...?”

 

The tinge of uncertainty in his voice throws Jiyong off. Because the version of Seunghyun in his mind was an incomplete picture and now it’s being redrawn in a way that should’ve been obvious.

 

Seunghyun isn’t the manifestation of a fantasy, he’s real, and Jiyong welcomes this flash of reality. It makes him feel human. Less like an idea and more like something Jiyong can grasp. His body chills out as a result, a slow smile creeping onto his face as he stares at Seunghyun a little more openly.

 

“No,” Jiyong answers eventually, shaking his head. “I’m free for half an hour.”

 

His gift in return is a grin that verges on bashful. Boyish, even. Jiyong’s never seen Seunghyun act like this before and it’s a revelation.

 

“Then I’ll take what I can get.”

 

He refrains from telling Seunghyun that he can take whatever he wants. Though Jiyong is relatively certain it’s written all over him.

 

“Should we--” he falters, nearly ducking his head because this is still so fucking weird, and his heart skips, dizzy from knowing what’s about to happen. “Do you want to grab a table?” he asks and gestures at an empty one by the windows.

 

Seunghyun doesn’t even turn to check, eyes locked on his. “Absolutely.”

 

A shiver winds its way along Jiyong’s spine and he chews at his bottom lip, because having Seunghyun stare at him like this when he’s a handful of inches away is...a lot of things. Exhilarating. Terrifying. Wonderful. Except he needs to move forward to reach the table and he can’t seem to coerce himself into motion, pinned there against the wall by Seunghyun’s sincerity.

 

Jiyong sort of giggles, the sound strangled and cut off as he swallows it down, feeling massively ill-equipped for this. But Seunghyun just stands there with his eyes all soft and earnest and now Jiyong has to move or else he’s going to do something stupid. _More stupid_. Why Seunghyun even wants to continue being in his company is beyond him.

 

Pushing off from the wall, he clumsily steps around the counter and starts to walk. “Are you sure I’m not keeping you?” Jiyong tosses over his shoulder, impressed that he doesn’t end up colliding with anything in the process.

 

The faint, answering chuckle behind him has the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

 

“Even if you were, I wouldn’t mind.”

 

 _God, you’re flirting with me_.

 

He collapses none-too-gracefully into one of the chairs, setting his cup down and dragging his bag onto his lap, watching the other man sit across from him. Seunghyun crosses his legs, his briefcase set on the floor by his feet. There’s an offhand sort of confidence to his posture--an understated sense of power that Jiyong would feel regardless of distance--and it radiates from the other side of the table in waves.

 

Fidgeting, he tries to keep his attention on Seunghyun, but it’s still a challenge. Especially when he’s not sure how to proceed. With strangers it’s easy. Acquaintances, too. But with the guy he wants to get down on his knees for? Not so much. And it doesn’t take a lot for the nerves to come rippling back, Jiyong nibbling on one of his fingernails while cursing himself for being so uptight.

 

After a few more beats of silence, the cafe still bustling around them, Seunghyun’s mouth curves and that fond glimmer returns to his eyes. “What’s it going to take to get you to relax?”

 

Jiyong snorts, biting into a smile, but doesn’t reply.

 

“I’m serious,” Seunghyun insists.

 

“You don’t look very serious.”

 

“Is this better?”

 

His half-smile vanishes the instant Seunghyun’s face changes, watching as it morphs from delighted to something darker. Jiyong holds his bag a little tighter over his lap.

 

“No,” he utters flatly, well aware that the return of his blush reveals otherwise.

 

With twitching lips, Seunghyun abandons the imposing expression, his broad shoulders shaking as he laughs into his coffee cup. Jiyong laughs too, turning away and groaning slightly because he feels like such an awkward mess.

 

“There we go.” Seunghyun grins, triumphant. “I guess I’ll just have to make you laugh as much as possible.”

 

“Shouldn’t be too hard. You have an unfair advantage,” Jiyong murmurs and reaches for his own coffee in lieu of staring like a gigantic, hopeless dork.

 

He ends up doing it anyway, Seunghyun staring right back. And when the man huffs quietly, toying with the cardboard sleeve on his cup, Jiyong sees that same flash of uncertainty from before.

 

“I, um...I think we’re on a pretty level playing field, actually.”

 

Both of his eyebrows shoot up at that and Seunghyun eases forward to prop his elbows on the table, as if Jiyong’s eyebrows just said something unusually fascinating.

 

“Why is that a surprise?” Seunghyun asks.

 

Jiyong averts his gaze. “I don’t know.”

 

He tugs at his beanie, bringing it lower over his ears. A tiny frown pulls at his mouth because he does know, he just feels like an idiot for thinking it. And he’s so busy kicking himself for not being fucking honest that he startles when Seunghyun gets up from the table, nudging his briefcase aside to pick up the chair and set it beside Jiyong’s.

 

Seunghyun resettles, physically cutting into Jiyong’s space by resting an arm on the table and lightly pressing their knees together. He doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing.

 

“Jiyong.”

 

Jiyong lifts his head without pause at the gentle command. Their eyes meet. Seunghyun smiles. This close, they don’t have to talk very loud, and when Seunghyun speaks it rolls right through him.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

“You really want me to say that here?” Jiyong asks, barely above a whisper, and he forces himself to hold Seunghyun’s steady gaze.

 

“If you don’t, I’m worried you’ll be too afraid to say it later,” Seunghyun admits.

 

“I’m not afraid.”

 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

 

 _There it is again_. The one question he has yet to answer for himself or anyone else. Jiyong exhales carefully. It requires an insane amount of effort not to lean even closer, drawn in by the sudden intimacy--Seunghyun’s body heat, the low tone of his voice. “I feel like we skipped a few steps here.”

 

Seunghyun smirks. “Would you rather talk about politics?”

 

“Fuck, no,” he blurts and they both snort with laughter.

 

It shouldn’t astonish him so much that this helps eat away at his nerves. That Seunghyun’s sunburst face would make it easier to breathe than the opposite.

 

“What about knowing my favorite movie, will that change your mind?”

 

“Depends,” Jiyong replies, matching smile firmly in place. “What is it?”

 

“Some Like It Hot. Still interested?”

 

“I dunno, it’s hard to compete with Tony Curtis in drag.”

 

The rush of amusement that shoots from Seunghyun’s mouth is incredible. His whole body tips over, needing to use the back of Jiyong’s chair to support himself, and Jiyong gets hit with another smoky swell of his cologne. It’s remarkably heady. Makes him feel like he’s high. When Seunghyun regains his composure and looks up, eyes admiring, alive...Jiyong knows he could lose himself there.

 

But the glimmer fades and Seunghyun schools his features, teeth sinking into his lip to keep it from twitching. “One more,” he murmurs.

 

Jiyong nods. “I’m listening.”

 

“Do I make you uncomfortable in any way?”

 

“No,” he answers, not even having to think about it. “Never.”

 

Seunghyun glances down, moving to cover one of Jiyong’s hands with his own. “So stop avoiding the question.”

 

For a moment, Jiyong is mute. It’s difficult to concentrate with all these points of contact. With the crystal clear sentiment in those words. Though it shouldn’t be difficult because everything he wants is right here and the agony would be over in a heartbeat if he’d just open his fucking mouth.

 

“You already know what I want from you,” Jiyong stalls, psyching himself out.

 

Seunghyun gives him another smile, but it doesn’t pack the same punch, edged as it is in disappointment. “I want to hear you say it.” He drags his fingers along the ridges of Jiyong’s knuckles as he withdraws. “If you can’t, then you’re not ready for what comes next.”

 

Closing his eyes, Jiyong blocks out the noises of the cafe swirling around him. He focuses on the soft inhalation to his right as Seunghyun breathes, waiting. Always waiting. Jiyong wants the problem to be that he wasn’t prepared to do this today. Or tomorrow or the day after. But he knows that’s a paper-thin excuse. Because being able to say this to Seunghyun has consumed him for weeks and now that’s he’s here, he’s choking. Jiyong wonders if maybe he just likes being miserable. Stagnant. Stuck in a loop where nothing good happens because he won’t let it happen.

 

He lowers his head, eyes still shut tight. He can’t tell how much time passes, but then a long sigh bleeds from Seunghyun, and he knows it’s too much. The chair creaks as Seunghyun shifts; air warming when he nears. Jiyong sucks in a quiet gasp when he feels the soft pressure of lips brushing against his temple.

 

“You know where to find me,” Seunghyun whispers before sliding back.

 

Jiyong listens to the sounds of him leaving, the words that need to be spoken clinging to the tip of his tongue but never coming out. And when he’s still sitting there a number of minutes later, fingers digging painfully into his bag, he can’t decide what’s worse--that he let Seunghyun walk away or that the disappointment that was in his smile had spread until it colored his voice.

  
  


*

  
  


Because it’s something he’s really good at, Jiyong wallows for the rest of the week. It’s so bad that Dylan and Theo can’t even reverse it with their usual antics. He avoids the bars. He makes coffee at home every morning before work. He sits on his couch and stares at nothing and replays the exact moment where he fucked up over and over again. Partially because he’s a masochist, but also because he never wants to forget how it felt to be the reason for Seunghyun’s displeasure. It’s a constant, bitter taste in his mouth that only grows stronger with each day that Jiyong holds off on going to find him. And by the end of his Saturday shift at the cafe, he’s so exhausted from thinking about it that he decides he doesn’t ever want to feel this a second time.

 

Sighing, Jiyong allows the lumbering motion of the bus to push him around, his head thunking against the glass after it bounces over a pothole. He watches the light from the setting sun peek through the gaps between buildings; watches it go from gold to pink to red.

 

It’s not particularly staggering that Seunghyun was right. In the back of his mind, Jiyong knew that if he’d said what Seunghyun wanted to hear that it wouldn’t have been a good thing. Not then. He’d been too committed to the idea and not the reality. Just like he’d let the idea of what Seunghyun represented cloud his perceptions of what it was he really needed. Jiyong’s perceptions are no longer cloudy. But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy after this.

 

The bus glides to a jerky halt. Jiyong gets off. His stop is six blocks down, but he decides walking the rest of the way is better for thinking. It’s a little muggy, the air thick and soft on his skin. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and watches cracks in the sidewalk pass beneath his feet.

 

What’s most important, Jiyong reminds himself, is that it’s not about sex. Sex is a bonus. Another layer of connection. It’s not only about his desire to submit, either. Because what he needs from Seunghyun is more than that. What he feels when he’s around him is more than that. Jiyong’s been with men who he thought were the answer, but what they provided was one-dimensional. What he wants is the whole package. To belong, body and soul, to someone who will nurture him in all things. To offer every bit of himself up to make that person happy, thereby securing his own happiness in the process. Trusting anyone enough to have that is kind of a huge deal and, up until now, something that’s been frustratingly elusive in his life.

 

Jiyong understands that there’s a chance Seunghyun won’t end up being this person. His gut tells him he is, but nothing is ever certain. The thing is, he’ll never find out if he doesn’t take that first step.

 

Locking the door to his apartment behind him, Jiyong drops his bag on the floor by the couch and then sits. More than anything, he hopes Seunghyun is taking his absence as a good sign. That it means he’s giving this--them--the consideration it deserves. Because before Jiyong can be honest with anyone else, he has to be honest with himself. Because communication is vital and he already failed that test fucking brilliantly on Monday morning.

 

He blows out a tired breath, sinking against the cushions to look up at the ceiling. His eyes close and at first he thinks about nothing, his mind blank. Open. But Seunghyun is an inevitability and soon all he can see are the man’s smiles. The ones that always felt as if they were just for him. Heat pools in Jiyong’s stomach, joined by a weight pushing down on his chest that isn’t oppressive at all, it’s soothing, and he floats there for quite a while.

 

His calm doesn’t last, though, memories of the very last smile he saw crowding his thoughts--that wilted, almost sad curve of Seunghyun’s mouth--and it’s like getting slapped in the face. Jiyong jolts up from the couch, blinking into the darkness of the living room.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes and turning towards the window.

 

There’s a thin sliver of sunset right above the horizon. It can’t be any later than seven-thirty. If he showers now, he can make it to The Playground by nine. Jiyong laughs a little too loudly for how quiet it is and leans forward on his elbows, running both hands through his hair. He hadn’t been planning on it, but now that the idea exists in his head…

 

“Fuck,” he mutters again, but this time it’s more whiny, and he rises from the couch to stumble into the bathroom, grin so wide that he can feel it everywhere.

  
  
  


*

  
  


On the bus ride to the club, Jiyong can’t stop his leg from bouncing, this frenetic sort of energy zipping around inside of him. He keeps messing with the shirtsleeves of his button-up, rolling them and unrolling them because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It’s not nerves, it’s anticipation, and every time he meets his own reflection in the glass, he can’t help but grin. Jiyong tries not to get too far ahead of himself by imagining Seunghyun’s hand pressed to the curve of his cheek; the reward of pleasure in Seunghyun’s eyes at seeing him there. There’s no point in fantasizing when he can’t predict the outcome, regardless of what he hopes will happen. Because his intent is simple. Jiyong wants to apologize. Anything that comes after will just be an additional reward, but he won’t go in armed with expectations. He knows from experience how dangerous that can be.

 

Jiyong feels the throbbing of bass beats well before he reaches The Playground’s front doors and his heart echoes the rhythm against his ribs. He pays the cover, gets his hand stamped. The main bar is packed and so is the dance floor, but Jiyong knows he won’t find Seunghyun there. Quickly, he weaves his way into the crowd and up a short flight of stairs to the next room, ignoring every face that he passes even when it’s familiar. Only one face matters. And his breath actually catches in his throat when he spots Seunghyun at the end of the bar lining the opposite wall.

 

Here, Jiyong slows down. He tells himself not to barrel across the room no matter how much his legs want to do exactly that. It’s important that he revels in this, each deliberate step forward making the wings in his stomach whir a little faster. Seunghyun laughs at something his friend shouts into his ear and Jiyong wills him to turn his head as he navigates the crush of bodies.

 

He gets his wish a few seconds later, Seunghyun pausing in the middle of taking a drink from his glass the moment their gazes collide. And it _is_ a collision. Like having the wind knocked right out of him.

 

Jiyong welcomes the heat that immediately follows, crackling along his skin until he’s burning from head to toe. He welcomes Seunghyun’s smile, too--appreciates how he straightens from his slouch over the bar top to track Jiyong’s approach. Neither of them break eye-contact. Jiyong even manages to hold his ground once he’s there in front of him, but it’s still hard.

 

Without looking, Seunghyun abandons his drink on the bar and then leans in, his lips close to Jiyong’s ear. “You took your time.”

 

The rich texture of Seunghyun’s baritone sends a languid tingle through his body and the teasing words make him laugh.

 

“We both know there was a reason for that,” he counters.

 

Seunghyun nods, withdrawing just a bit to peer down at him. He doesn’t say anything else. Not that he needs to, it’s Jiyong’s move not his. So he gives himself a long moment to study the contours of Seunghyun’s face. To bask in the contentment etched there. Which clearly pleases him even more, because his smile unfurls until it’s almost blinding, and Jiyong represses the urge to feel Seunghyun’s hand smoothing over his hair in approval.

 

“Can we talk?” Jiyong asks eventually, impressed by the strength of his own voice.

 

Another silent nod.

 

Some of his confidence slips and he reaches for his septum ring out of habit. “Um…” Jiyong stops, remembers to breathe. “Not here. The patio, it’s quieter.”

 

The subtle quirk of Seunghyun’s mouth is all he needs in answer and he waits while the older man turns to his friend to excuse himself. Attention returning to Jiyong, Seunghyun raises both eyebrows, indicating for him to lead the way. What he doesn’t see coming when he pivots on his heel is the hand that presses against the small of his back as they walk. Jiyong feels more of that tingling radiate out from Seunghyun’s palm and he leans into it on instinct. To stay close. To soak up the sensation while it lasts. Seunghyun responds by rubbing his fingers lightly over the fabric and Jiyong clamps down on his lip--wonders if Seunghyun knows, really knows, just how easy it would be to transform him into a soft, human puddle.

 

Given the way he insists on teasing him, Jiyong thinks that’s an explicit yes.

 

Out on the patio, the night air is almost as balmy as the air inside and it offers little reprieve from the fact that his body has turned into a blazing oven. Seunghyun removes his hand, which helps, even though he kind of wants it to stay there forever, and Jiyong shoots him a careful glance before wandering to a secluded corner near the edge of the deck. He props himself sideways against the railing, waits for Seunghyun to do the same. Laughter erupts from the other end of the patio and Jiyong lets it dissolve before he speaks.

 

“I think I owe you an apology.”

 

Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise again, this time in confusion. “An apology?”

 

“For not being candid with you the other day,” Jiyong explains.

 

He watches understanding dawn on Seunghyun’s face--the softening of his brow and the way his eyes convey forgiveness without uttering a sound. It’s such a tiny gesture, but it floods him with an acute sense of relief, and Jiyong’s confidence knits itself back together twice as strong.

 

“So, I’m sorry,” he continues, gaze fixed. “You were right. I wasn’t ready.”

 

In the next instant, Seunghyun seems to grow taller, seems to physically take up more space as he regards Jiyong intently. “And now you are.”

 

“I’m standing in front of you, aren’t I?”

 

Jiyong acknowledges the challenge for what it is and doesn’t yield, not intimidated by Seunghyun’s faint reminder of what it is they’re really doing here. But underneath all of that, there are still traces of affection and respect and admiration. Things he thinks he’s been given too freely and he wants the chance to truly be worthy of them. His conviction must be apparent, because Seunghyun’s expression brightens and then he clears his throat.

 

“Will you answer the question?”

 

“Yes,” Jiyong responds easily.

 

Shifting closer, Seunghyun lifts a hand, using the tip of one finger to nudge his chin higher. He holds Jiyong there for a while, affording him the same thorough consideration. The passing of those eyes over every inch of his face is extraordinary torture. Because Jiyong can feel it like a caress and it’s simultaneously the most overwhelming and not nearly enough. His lips part on a weak sigh, fingers tightening around the wooden railing to keep himself from squirming.

 

Seunghyun lingers on Jiyong’s mouth and his stomach clenches, the ache a little less painful only when he sees how difficult it is for the man to look up at him again.

 

“What do you want from me, Jiyong?” Seunghyun asks, voice a fraction rougher than before.

 

He doesn’t miss a beat.

 

“The honor of serving you,” Jiyong murmurs. “And, when I’ve earned it, the honor of being your boy.”

 

Heart pounding fiercely in his chest, he inhales, slow and steady, and lets it out all at once. It’s as if an enormous pressure has been lifted from his shoulders and he laughs, beyond elated when Seunghyun returns it with a contented smile, finger gliding along the ridge of his jaw and then falling away. Jiyong chews at his bottom lip again, giddy but still careful.

 

“There’s something else you want to say.”

 

“I--” he cuts himself off and releases another laugh. Of course Seunghyun would see it, reading him effortlessly. Jiyong ducks his head for the first time since he arrived, because now that they’ve come this far, it’s easier to be himself.

 

“It’s weird, it’s like I’ve known you for years.” He scrapes his nails against a jagged ridge in the wood. “I mean, this is only our second conversation, but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s…” Jiyong trails off, gaze finding Seunghyun’s as he searches his brain for the right word. “It’s different with you. And I wondered if that was just me.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Seunghyun replies.

 

“I’ve been mulling this over a lot the last few days. How you draw me in and why. Because it’s more than superficial and it’s more than wanting my place to be at your feet.” Jiyong’s mouth cracks on a wry grin. “I’ve knelt for others, but none of them freaked me out as much as you do.”

 

With an incredulous snort, Seunghyun lays his hand on top of Jiyong’s, brushing his thumb against Jiyong’s skin.

 

“I freak you out?”

 

“In a good way, I promise,” he chuckles. And when his amusement dims, he turns his hand over to curl it into Seunghyun’s. “It’s just…” Jiyong pauses. He shouldn’t be this stupidly pleased about handholding, but here he is, staring at their linked fingers while trying to keep his face under control. “What we could be is so clear in my head and I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life,” he admits quietly, cheeks hot. “I know it’ll be work, I’m not that naive--”

 

“I didn’t think you were,” Seunghyun interjects, squeezing their hands together in emphasis.

 

“It still feels important to say it.” Jiyong tilts his head and he smirks. “I avoided talking to you for two months, Seunghyun, I think telling you what’s on my mind is sort of overdue.”

 

Laughing, Seunghyun nods, conceding defeat. Because they both know he’s right. They have a lot of catching up to do. A lot of learning, a lot of exploring. And he honestly can’t imagine anything better.

 

“Waiting for you was never a waste of time,” Seunghyun murmurs, giving him a smile that’s hard to look at for long, but somehow Jiyong manages.

 

Hearing that also makes him bold and he reaches out, taking Seunghyun’s other hand and pushing it against the side of his neck. He closes his eyes when Seunghyun doesn’t hesitate to grip him more firmly, fingertips sinking into the tendrils of hair at his nape. Seunghyun pulls and Jiyong sways forward without resistance, feeling the humid gust of his breath right before his mouth connects with the ridge of Jiyong’s brow.

 

This...this is where he breaks--eases his way into the curve of Seunghyun’s body; wraps both arms around his waist.

 

The physical experience of holding Seunghyun has his throat constricting. Worse, when Seunghyun hugs him back, never relinquishing his grasp on Jiyong’s neck. It centers him. Helps him focus on the solid weight of Seunghyun’s presence and not the tumult of emotions attempting to yank him under.

 

“Jiyong?”

 

He hums, luxuriating in the way Seunghyun’s scent is all around him now.

 

“Would you like to come home with me?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Seunghyun responds with this delicious, gravelly chuckle, and a fresh batch of anticipation travels through Jiyong’s stomach until he shivers.

  
  



	2. Part 2

The street Seunghyun lives on is pristine--twin rows of condos and houses and apartments that no doubt cost more than Jiyong is willing to estimate. He knew Seunghyun was well off, but seeing it firsthand calls attention to how much their lives are a lesson in contrasts. Not even in a negative way. It’s just something he neglected to really think about until now, striding up the walkway to Seunghyun’s townhouse with their hands clasped like this is something they do every day. Jiyong wonders if the older man feels it too, this strange combination of tension and familiarity. They didn’t speak much on the cab ride here. They didn’t have to. The constant press of Seunghyun’s hand on his thigh was loud enough for the both of them.

 

Opening the front door, Seunghyun leads him inside, disarming the security system and flipping the lights on in the foyer. The door shuts, sealing off the rest of the world. A new brand of quiet settles over them and that anticipatory hum vibrates so strongly in his bones that Jiyong actually finds himself trembling a little.

 

“Something wrong?” Seunghyun asks, brows furrowing as he turns towards him and brings a hand up to cradle his face.

 

With a jerky shake of his head, Jiyong laughs, leaning into his palm. He feels more than a bit flustered now that they’re completely alone.

 

Seunghyun eases closer then, guiding Jiyong to rest against the door. It’s so still and silent he can hear them breathing--one half composed and the other strained. When he peers up into Seunghyun’s eyes, the want he discovers there is heavy enough to rival his own, and Jiyong can’t wait to see what it looks like once that composure gets ripped to shreds.

 

“Please kiss me,” he whispers.

 

For a few seconds, Seunghyun does nothing, just stares down at him like he’s debating whether or not to comply. He watches dark eyes flicker to his mouth and the hum intensifies.

 

“I’m not sure you deserve that yet,” Seunghyun whispers back, smiling as he drags his thumb along Jiyong’s bottom lip.

 

Mouth opening wider, he sighs, letting his eyelids drift shut. There’s a part of him that’s more desperate to be touched than teased, but he stifles the impulse, reaching out to grab fistfuls of Seunghyun’s shirt instead--not tugging him closer, just needing the additional contact. To feel him under his hands and find balance again.

 

“How can I earn it?” he asks.

 

A thrill carries through Jiyong when Seunghyun pushes into him further, nose rubbing against his cheekbone and lips grazing his skin.

 

“Beg.”

 

He sucks in a shuddery breath. The command is simple, but it’s coupled with Seunghyun’s mouth latching onto the curve of his jaw, and Jiyong thinks he’s probably never been more turned on than he is in this moment.

 

Seunghyun’s smile blossoms against the side of his face and then those lips are moving, trailing over his chin and lower to explore his neck. He shivers, fists clenching until his knuckles hurt. Begging shouldn’t be difficult at all.

 

The instant Jiyong feels Seunghyun’s tongue sliding along his throat, he moans. Again, when there’s a slow scrape of teeth against his collarbone. Another soft press of lips here, another teasing lick there. It’s frustrating and beautiful how meticulous Seunghyun is in taking him apart and he’s already on edge by the time Seunghyun returns to ghost kisses all over his face. Everywhere but the one place he needs most.

 

“Please,” Jiyong whispers again.

 

Seunghyun leans away, sliding a hand along the back of his neck and up into his hair, the other resting on his waist. “Please what?” he murmurs, eyebrow quirked.

 

Staring intently at those reddened lips, Jiyong wets his own. “Please kiss me.”

 

“But I’ve kissed you already,” Seunghyun replies smoothly.

 

And to prove his point, he tips forward and leaves another delicate kiss on the bridge of Jiyong’s nose.

 

Jiyong nuzzles against him without shame, relishing the dull sting when Seunghyun’s fingers grip his bun tightly and pull, keeping him in place. The only sign that this game is affecting Seunghyun as much as it’s affecting Jiyong is the way Seunghyun’s stomach expands and contracts stiffly with each regulated breath. Which is sexier than it has any right to be and his hips cant away from the door, begging with his body now as well as his voice.

 

“On the mouth.” He draws Seunghyun in ever so slightly. “Please.”

 

Seunghyun hovers a few centimeters from Jiyong’s lips, holding him firmly as he tilts his head and brushes a light kiss over one corner. “Here?”

 

“Yes,” Jiyong gasps, gaze half-lidded because he doesn’t want to miss anything. Like the faint curl at one side of Seunghyun’s mouth just before he nips at Jiyong’s. “More,” he demands, straining against the anchored grip on his hair. “Seunghyun, please.”

 

Jerking him back again, Seunghyun’s eyes flash dangerously and Jiyong smiles. He’s panting, exhilarated by the show of hunger he knows is mirrored in his own eyes.

 

“Tell me how much,” Seunghyun asks, honeyed baritone unable to hide how his control is being tested.

 

Jiyong has no qualms using that to his advantage. Because they haven’t negotiated limits yet or had a discussion about their needs. This is just them--playing, provoking, getting to know one another. So he releases Seunghyun’s shirt, knuckles delightfully sore, and reaches back to take the hand at his waist. Very slowly, Jiyong slides it across his stomach and down between his legs until Seunghyun can feel the hard length of his cock.

 

“This--” He gasps again, choking on a low moan when Seunghyun squeezes him through his jeans. “--is how much.”

 

No more witty remarks are forthcoming and Jiyong is equal parts smug and aroused, because Seunghyun looks like he’s seconds away from losing it. And oh, how Jiyong wants him to lose it. Tilting his chin, he pulls against Seunghyun’s hold, barely touching their lips together. “Kiss me,” Jiyong mumbles, looking up at him through the web of his eyelashes, hips rolling just so. “I’m yours.”

 

The unsteady sigh Seunghyun releases is felt more than heard and it’s the only warning he has before Seunghyun surges into him, mouth hot and insistent. Jiyong shudders from the sheer joy of it--arms raising to coil around Seunghyun’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He’s half aware of Seunghyun’s hands as they move to grab his ass and boost him up, laughing as his legs lock onto him automatically. At least his limbs know what the hell they’re doing. Jiyong can’t speak for the rest of himself, utterly lost in what’s being done to him. In the way Seunghyun’s sweetness bleeds through the intensity, just like in everything else he does.

 

Their lips crash together and part over and over, teeth biting at tender skin and tongues far from cautious. When he applies pressure to the back of Seunghyun’s head, wanting to keep him there, wanting to devour and be devoured, Seunghyun groans. It’s such a satisfying thing to hear him voice his enjoyment that Jiyong bucks his hips, hoping to hear it again, and in answer, the hands on his ass begin to move. To knead at him roughly in encouragement. So Jiyong doesn’t stop, rhythm distracted but constant.

 

Eventually air becomes a necessity, though, and he has to break away, forehead plastered against Seunghyun’s as his chest heaves. Seunghyun gives him a smile that would make him weak in the knees if he was still standing and Jiyong feels dizzy.

 

“Can you come for me, like this?” Seunghyun asks, breathless.

 

He nods, trying to make some sort of noise in affirmation, but it gets stuck on the way out when Seunghyun pushes forward, grinding Jiyong into the door. “ _Fuck_ ,” he moans. “Y-yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

Jiyong instantly flushes with pleasure, that word--that fabulous fucking word--shooting through him in the most exceptional way. His hips twitch almost involuntarily and a grin works its way onto his face.

 

“You like that,” Seunghyun muses, pulling Jiyong against him as he pushes forward again.

 

A stuttered sigh bleeds from his lips and his eyes close. Jiyong feels the tight knot of pressure in his gut grow a bit more unbearable, body starting to rock and arms looping more firmly around Seunghyun’s neck.

 

“Yes,” he breathes.

 

Carefully, Seunghyun eases Jiyong’s lower half a few inches away from the door, his shoulder blades digging into the heavy wood and his back arched to keep himself from slipping too much. It changes the angle, allowing him more freedom to move. When Seunghyun reclaims his mouth, Jiyong opens for him readily, welcoming the slick glide of his tongue and the way Seunghyun leans into him every time he rolls his hips Their desperation has waned some, but he knows it won’t last. Because his orgasm is hanging there just out of reach and a fresh wave of need sets him off.

 

It doesn’t help that he can also feel the occasional press of Seunghyun’s erection against his ass. Jiyong twists a little, trying to rub against it, and he receives a lazy chuckle in response.

 

“You don’t have to,” Seunghyun mumbles into his mouth.

 

“But--” he stops, moaning softly as he’s kissed quiet.

 

Seunghyun bites at Jiyong’s lip and smiles. “I can wait,” he explains. “And I need you to relax.” Grinding into him with more intent, Seunghyun’s hold turns bruising and his mouth finds Jiyong’s ear. “So be a good boy...and come.”

 

Gasping, Jiyong shudders, not ready for that particular mix of sensations. Seunghyun’s fingers, his voice, the hot breath carrying those words and the not-so-subtle display of power behind them. His cock throbs between his legs and he doesn’t hesitate to obey.

 

Jiyong clings to Seunghyun’s shoulders, almost shaking with the effort it takes to rut against him like this. But he’s so close that the ache in his muscles is nothing, mind focused solely on chasing his release. Seunghyun continues to murmur praise in his ear and it’s all the incentive he needs to let go, hips bucking sharply, and then Jiyong is coming--head flying back to slam into the door and eyes briefly going wide.

 

“ _Fuckme_ ,” he whines, teeth gritted against the heavenly rush in his groin and the pain radiating out from his skull.

 

With a sound that’s more of a groan than a laugh, he turns to nudge his nose into Seunghyun’s cheek, still rocking against him as he gradually unwinds, the endorphins cycling through his body and making him soft. Pliant. Seunghyun gathers Jiyong up then, arms coiled about his waist and lips gentle as they slide over his.

 

His mouth slants upwards, hands moving to frame Seunghyun’s face. The silence of the house falls down around them and again their breathing is louder than anything else. Only they’re in sync here--both uneven but calming. Jiyong cements the intimacy of it in his memory. The sated and content sort of bubble that seems to have enveloped him.

 

“So…” he murmurs and steals one more kiss, his smile giddy.

 

Seunghyun huffs, stepping away from the door and helping Jiyong to stand. “So,” he parrots, tone infinitely more teasing as he weaves their fingers together, his other hand rising to smooth wisps of Jiyong’s hair back from his forehead. “Now that you’re not so tense…” A sly grin appears for a moment before fading. “Do you want the grand tour or would you prefer to skip that part and discuss what happens next?”

 

If his legs weren’t already comprised of jello, they would be now. He sways into Seunghyun, body still drunk on the gratification of orgasm, and he fights a laugh. Because his mind is racing with the implications of “next”. Jiyong immediately curbs his eagerness to please. This is about both of them. This is about creating a dialogue, something that takes time. Remembering that injects him with another burst of anticipation that leaves him more excited to learn. To share. To build on this weird connection that will never not freak him out.

 

Smushing his face against Seunghyun’s chest, Jiyong places his palm on the small of the man’s back and just holds him there for a while, inhaling deeply. It’s soothing and comfortable and he’s thankful that Seunghyun lets him have this, his relaxation seeping into his bones when Seunghyun’s hand finds its place at the back of his neck.

 

“I’ll take door number two,” he mumbles, in love with the feeling of Seunghyun’s laughter as it pours out of him.

 

“I figured you would.”

 

Jiyong leans back, his own laughter a bit on the drowsy side. “Then why did you even ask?”

 

Taking a few steps in reverse, Seunghyun starts to draw him into the shadows of the house, smirking all the way. “To give you the illusion of choice.”

 

He snorts and shakes his head, allowing Seunghyun to be his eyes when they walk through what Jiyong thinks is the living room and then up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Light from the street leaks in through curtained windows, but it doesn’t help much. Jiyong can just barely make out the shapes of a long dining table--the squares of art on the walls and a plush rug under his feet. Seunghyun squeezes his fingers as they pass through the kitchen, pausing at the bottom of another flight of stairs and murmuring for Jiyong to watch his step.

 

“I can’t believe you live here alone,” he says, almost without meaning to, and he’s glad for the dark because it hides his subsequent blush of embarrassment.

 

Chuckling, Seunghyun keeps leading him up the stairs and doesn’t say anything until they reach the top, flipping another light switch.

 

“I needed the wall space.”

 

Jiyong blinks rapidly, adjusting to the sudden change, and despite not being able to see Seunghyun’s expression, he hears the note of humor in his voice. When everything comes into focus, though, he smiles. Because every inch of the small sitting room is covered in art. He suspects the rest of the house is too, even more framed paintings and photographs lurking in the hallway across from them. Jiyong’s gaze lands on a large canvas hanging above the couch that looks strangely familiar and he moves towards it, only realizing that Seunghyun is still attached to him when he nearly drags the man, laughing, into one of the side tables.

 

“Sorry,” he blurts, easing his hand from Seunghyun’s grasp to point at the painting and to prevent any further accidents. “It’s just, this. I’ve seen this before.”

 

He sighs, telling himself to loosen the fuck up and not acknowledge his own awkwardness or it’ll get worse. Seunghyun rounds the table that came out of nowhere to stand beside him, lips still stretched wide in amusement as he regards the piece of art in question.

 

“It was up in the gallery, about a year ago. The others in the series are downstairs.”

 

And then it clicks, Jiyong recalling the article he read. The one with the picture of Seunghyun standing in front of these paintings looking like a ray of sunshine. Shifting, he studies Seunghyun’s profile, something in the way he’s staring at the piece--dark eyes tracing abstract forms and washes of color with a sense of nostalgia that even Jiyong can feel.

 

“Who’s the artist?” he asks, pretty sure he knows the answer.

 

Seunghyun’s brow furrows, gaze pensive when he returns his attention to Jiyong, giving him a half smile he can’t translate.

 

“I am.”

 

He turns away from the painting completely, facing Seunghyun. Jiyong didn’t mean to put the somber edge there at the corners of Seunghyun’s mouth, but his curiosity is too strong and they’re already here. “Why did you stop?”

 

“It didn’t make me happy anymore,” Seunghyun replies, smile brightening some as he meets Jiyong’s curiosity head-on. “Helping others is what makes me happy now.”

 

Jiyong doesn’t need to know every minute detail of the man’s history to see how real that is. Because it’s one thing to have the evidence of Seunghyun’s generosity listed on a website like a resumé and another to have the enormity of his heart shining back at him through such unguarded eyes.

 

“What?” Seunghyun asks, squinting, though the flash of his dimples ruins any attempts at it being a threat.

 

“Nothing, I’m--” Jiyong cuts himself off with a laugh. “I’m just sort of in awe of you, is all.”

 

Both of Seunghyun’s eyebrows slope upwards. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, really.”

 

Jiyong pauses, chewing on his lip while he thinks of how to articulate himself and tries not to fidget.

 

“You’re an impressive person, Seunghyun. I mean that in the most sincere way possible.”

 

The dimples reappear full-force as Seunghyun reaches out to stroke the curve of his cheek. “I’ve never questioned your sincerity,” he assures, leaning towards Jiyong and replacing his hand with his mouth.  

 

Seunghyun’s kiss is more than a ‘thank you’, the fond caress lasting for a length of time that he can’t quantify because time doesn’t exist in these moments when the world gets stripped away. Jiyong’s eyes are closed and he doesn’t even remember doing that, one of his hands bunched in the thin cotton of Seunghyun’s shirt. Nuzzling against him, Seunghyun bestows a second kiss and then pulls back..

 

“Sit.”

 

He hears the command, but he needs a second to act on it, not missing the satisfaction written in every line and curve of Seunghyun’s body as he lowers himself onto the couch and watches Jiyong struggle. But when he does, fitting himself into Seunghyun’s side without thought, he’s rewarded by the weight of an arm draping over his shoulders.

 

Jiyong goes lax in his hold, angling his head back so he can look at him. There isn’t one particular way to have this conversation, even though Jiyong’s been through it before. Countless times. The difference is that none of his previous partners were Seunghyun, and the significance of that has him reeling in his enthusiasm when it swirls to life in his chest.

 

“How would you like to go about this?” Seunghyun asks, saving him the trouble of figuring out where to begin.

 

“We should start with what happens tonight. Save the rest for later.”

 

Seunghyun nods in agreement and then smirks, his thumb kneading into Jiyong’s arm. “Though I have a feeling you already know what you want. So, tell me.”

 

He lets out a huff, because this part always takes some getting used to no matter how easy it is to have the thought to begin with. But he’s been wanting to say this out loud for two months and now that he finally has the opportunity, he’s going to make it count.

 

“It’s, um, it’s simple,” Jiyong starts, lips twitching.

 

Repositioning himself, he twists and curls into Seunghyun, head pillowed on his arm and legs drawn up onto the cushions. Jiyong inhales carefully, leveling Seunghyun with the brunt of his affections and his desires and he watches the older man’s smirk falter. The knowledge that he holds power here, too, is a drug in and of itself, and Jiyong revels in the words as they slowly form on his tongue and take flight.

 

“I want to give myself to you,” Jiyong continues quietly, smiling as he brings a finger up to touch Seunghyun’s face, trailing it along his chin and his jaw. “I want you to tie me up and fuck me and take what’s yours.”

 

Seunghyun’s nostrils flare slightly at that--his breath slipping free of his mouth all at once--and Jiyong’s stomach cartwheels. It’s incredible, to him, that he can put cracks in the foundations of Seunghyun’s control like this. Because he’s not even trying, he’s just being honest and being himself. If that’s all that it takes, he thinks they’re probably going to have a hell of a good time pushing each other’s buttons.

 

When the heat in Seunghyun’s eyes diminishes, he steals Jiyong’s wandering hand to pull it into his lap, concentrating on their linked fingers for a beat before clearing his throat.

 

“Any limits?”

 

“For this session?” Seunghyun nods and Jiyong doesn’t rush to answer. As eager as he is to share this experience with him, it’s still their first time, and it doesn’t need to be complicated. “Most things are off the table. I think it’s important that we go slow.”

 

Which makes Seunghyun smile, gaze flicking up to find his again. “I have one request.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“I control your orgasm.”

 

Jiyong’s breath hitches and the swell of arousal that washes over him has his skin prickling under his button-up and this, this he answers readily. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Seunghyun confirms.

 

Then there’s a shift, much like the way Seunghyun seemed to grow taller when they were standing on the patio earlier, and Jiyong reacts to it instinctively, head bowing as he slides his arm free to turn and clasp the back of Jiyong’s neck.

 

Seunghyun’s fingers start rubbing into the tendons there, eliciting a wave of goosebumps. “Look at me,” he coaxes.

 

Jiyong does.

 

“These are the rules,” Seunghyun states without preamble, the low tone of his voice calming but no less assertive.

 

“When we enter that bedroom, you will address me as “sir” until the session is over. You will not speak unless spoken to and you will do exactly as I say. I reserve the right to alter these rules at any point during the session as I see fit.” Seunghyun regards him intently. “Do you accept these terms?”

 

“Yes,” Jiyong replies, breaths coming faster. He wonders if Seunghyun can feel how warm he is, because Jiyong feels like he’s burning up.

 

“Do you trust me to value your safety and well-being and to treat them as my highest priority?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Seunghyun’s mouth quirks, pleased, and he lazily scratches his way into Jiyong’s hair as he continues.

 

“The safeword is “red”. But safewords are often unreliable, so I always check in with a double hand squeeze, like this.” Seunghyun clenches Jiyong’s hand twice in quick succession to demonstrate. “If you ever fail to reply with the same, the session stops immediately. Understood?”

 

“Understood,” he mumbles, eyelids heavy from the petting.

 

His eyes fall shut a moment later and he hears a faint chuckle, the fingers slipping away. Jiyong doesn’t quite whine at the loss, but he does sigh, blinking at Seunghyun as he remembers what’s most important right now.

 

“Anything else before we begin?”

 

Stomach knotting tightly, he nods. Because as soon as Jiyong walks into that bedroom, he officially relinquishes all traces of autonomy, and he wants one more thing while he can still get it.

 

So he rises onto his knees, swinging his right leg over Seunghyun’s hips to straddle his lap. Looming above him, Jiyong cups his face with both hands, and Seunghyun just gazes back peacefully--sparks of interest shining in his dark eyes, though he does nothing more than curl his palms around Jiyong’s thighs, right beneath the swell of his ass.

 

Jiyong waits, letting the seconds tick by, denying himself for as long as he can stand it. He waits until every intake of his breath matches every intake of Seunghyun’s breath; until the direct eye-contact stops feeling strange and starts to feel like a tangible link between them. A conduit where parts of themselves are being exchanged in silence. His thumbs stroke back and forth along the hills of Seunghyun’s cheekbones and he smiles when the next breath snags on its way out. Because he’ll never not be in awe of this man who is looking at him like he’s ten kinds of wonderful.

 

Only when Seunghyun returns the smile--the width of it pushing against Jiyong’s hands--does he act, swooping down to capture those lips. To laugh into his mouth and feel the playful nipping of his teeth when they start to tease. Heart seizing in his chest, he kisses Seunghyun a bit deeper, granting himself permission to get swept up in the ardent pulse of happiness coursing through every nerve. But then Seunghyun’s fingers press into the crease of ass and thigh and Jiyong moans, needing to pull back before he can’t anymore.

 

“All right,” he whispers, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

 

Seunghyun drags his hands up over Jiyong’s sides, his smile melting but the heat in his gaze stronger than ever. He doesn’t reply, instead wordlessly helping Jiyong off of the couch as he follows.

 

They migrate from the sitting room and down the hallway, Seunghyun opening one of the doors and hitting another switch, bathing everything in dim light. Jiyong feels hypersensitive to all sensory stimuli, like the physical reality of his body taking up space and the way the air fluctuates when Seunghyun steps aside, gesturing for him to enter. The muted gold of the walls, the sound of Seunghyun clearing his throat before he speaks.

 

“Stop there.”

 

Jiyong stills in the middle of the room. He hears the click of the door closing and his breath hitches again, fingers twitching against his thighs. There are no more commands, only quiet, and it lasts for such a long time that Jiyong feels it pushing in around him, just like he can feel Seunghyun’s presence--can sense the weight of his gaze from where he lingers by the door--and a fresh wave of goosebumps spread across his skin.

 

His eyes roam. He takes in small details, like the untucked edge of a dark brown sheet at the foot of Seunghyun’s bed. The precise arrangement of framed photos on the wall to his right, the absence of a dresser, the book left sitting open on the side table--its spine creased from use. There are also two more doors, one ajar that leads to the bathroom and the other, he assumes, is the closet.

 

In the midst of filing these details away, Jiyong almost jumps at the sound of Seunghyun’s low command.

 

“Remove your clothes.”

 

Jiyong sinks his teeth into the beginnings of a smile and lifts his hands to his collar, undoing the buttons gradually. He listens to the rustle of fabric as he slowly tugs it from his shoulders and then his arms and lets it fall to the hardwood floor. Breathing in, he pauses, savoring the cooler air on his too-warm body. Jiyong’s fingers glide over his stomach until they meet denim, unhurriedly popping the button and lowering the zipper. He toes his shoes off and peels his jeans away from his hips, bending at the waist to ease them down his legs, letting them pool at his feet. Breathing out, Jiyong pulls off his socks--first the left and then the right. He adds them to the pile and steps out of his jeans to nudge them aside, careful not to leave the spot on the floor where he was told to stay.

 

Not being able to see Seunghyun’s face doesn’t detract from the thrill of being watched. If anything, it heightens his awareness, and knowing that the man’s attention is devoted to him and him alone has his cock hardening again. Jiyong’s hands tremble as he slips them into the band of his still damp boxer-briefs. Not from nervousness, but from excitement, and when they hit the floor and get pushed aside and he’s finally standing there naked, he feels like he might vibrate out of his own skin.

 

Without the noises of his undressing, the quiet descends. Jiyong closes his eyes, listening for any indication of movement from Seunghyun. He thinks Seunghyun must realize this is what he’s doing, because even the sound of his breath is inaudible. Because there’s a purpose to this, just as there’s been a purpose in every moment since he walked into the room.

 

Jiyong obeys the silent instruction to empty his mind and let go. To exist as he is because it’s what Seunghyun wants him to do. No expectations. No waiting. Just being. Seunghyun will come to him. Whether it’s through another command or something else doesn’t matter. Because here and now, Jiyong exists entirely for Seunghyun’s pleasure.

 

Allowing himself to once again enter that kind of headspace after months of inconsistent play partners is like being given a gift. It speaks volumes of Seunghyun’s experience with those who submit. Of his sensitivity and his intuition. Jiyong briefly wonders if Seunghyun has ever submitted before and then lets the thought float away. There will be opportunities for questions later.

 

The concept of time falls apart pretty quickly after that, leaving Jiyong in a void where there’s only the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. His mind wanders. Thoughts come and go and he barely notices their passing. He has no idea how long he stands there, limbs heavy. Loose. To the point where he sways slightly on his feet. Jiyong is so lost in being nothing that the feather-light skimming of fingertips at the base of his spine makes him gasp loudly, eyes flickering open as the contact radiates through his center.

 

Seunghyun’s body heat crashes into him like a brick wall when he moves closer, touch traveling higher along the curve of his back and eliciting a shiver that takes hold of his entire frame. Everything is more pronounced--the breath fanning out over his shoulder hotter than a furnace. And when moist lips press against the juncture of his neck, Jiyong’s jaw cracks open on a ragged sigh.

 

“You are...exquisite,” Seunghyun whispers into his skin, so faintly he almost doesn’t hear it.

 

His eyelashes flutter and he sways again, because being praised when he’s already experiencing sensory overload is a recipe for euphoria. Especially when the feather-light touches continue, Seunghyun’s other hand caressing up Jiyong’s arm and then down, his fingers mapping out whatever he can reach--shoulder blades, ribs, chest, stomach, the soft of his thighs, his ass, his cock. Jiyong’s head lolls forward and he leans into Seunghyun, almost limp--these little moans resonating in his throat as the stroking becomes less delicate. Like the fingernails that scratch a bit roughly over his hips, making him shudder against the solid wall of Seunghyun at his back.

 

But eventually the caresses stop, those beautiful hands resting flat against his stomach and his sternum and just cradling him there. Jiyong registers the thickness of Seunghyun’s clothed erection nestled between his ass cheeks and feels a flash of pride; knows that his body and his obedience are the cause. It’s heightened by the way Seunghyun breathes heavily against the nape of Jiyong’s neck, face buried in the wisps of his hair, hold bordering on possessive.

 

Intoxicating is too weak a word for what this is--what Seunghyun is--but Jiyong surrenders to it completely; content to drown in the heady warmth of belonging to another person.

 

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

 

“I’m thinking of how happy I am that I please you, Sir,” he replies, words slow.

 

Seunghyun’s answering smile spreads along the curve of his neck, the hand on his stomach adding a little more pressure as Seunghyun shifts closer. Impossibly close. And Jiyong can’t help but choke on his next breath when the length of Seunghyun’s cock slides against him, too.

 

“You please me a great deal,” Seunghyun murmurs into his ear.

 

Jiyong is so hard he aches, every part of him lit up. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of this without literally coming apart at the seams, unable to contain all that he’s feeling just from the sound of appreciation in Seunghyun’s voice. The reverence in his fingers. The way he noses into the mess of Jiyong’s hair and inhales, like Jiyong is something to be cherished.

 

But even though he’d love nothing more than to wallow in this, he understands that it can’t last, and he makes no noise when Seunghyun kisses his shoulder one more time and eases away.

 

“Lie down on the bed.”

 

Moving forward, Jiyong doesn’t let himself miss the heat of contact too much as he crawls onto cold sheets and rolls to lie on his back. He stares at the ceiling, palms flat on the covers beside him. Seunghyun approaches the edge of the mattress and reaches out to pass a hand over his head before walking away.

 

Jiyong’s eyes shut and he allows a small grin, listening to Seunghyun’s almost silent steps as he goes to the other side of the room. There’s a slight creaking in the floor--the faint sound of a door, drawers opening and closing. He blocks it all out. Because it doesn’t matter. Instead, he concentrates on the physical; on his breath as it cycles through his lungs, the air dusting his skin, the tension of his arousal. He’s not even startled when the bed dips to his left, a hint of a smile still playing at the corners of his lips as he looks up to find Seunghyun seated beside him, dark red rope coiled in his lap.

 

“Stay exactly as you are.”

 

He tracks the sweep of Seunghyun’s gaze over his chest and his hips and his mouth parts on another sigh as fingers drag gradually along his leg, pausing to knead into the permanent lines inked there. It’s brief, but Jiyong fights the urge to arch into it, forcing his body not to react on instinct when Seunghyun’s touch inches higher and grazes the base of his cock. His cock that twitches at the attention, making Seunghyun’s lips quirk while he watches, gripping the shaft fully and rubbing his thumb against the head. Jiyong whimpers--stomach clenched tight in an effort not to buck his hips.

 

Smirking now, Seunghyun begins to stroke him, slow and firm, pumping more droplets of precome from the tip. “Remember,” he drawls, gleaming eyes locked on Jiyong’s as he strokes a bit faster, “that you’re not allowed to come until I say you can.”

 

With a shaky nod, Jiyong clutches the sheets and moans. How could he possibly forget? It’s just that if he’s not careful, he’ll end up disobeying no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Because the friction of Seunghyun’s fist is too good. The buildup of pressure too great. He can’t tell him to stop, can’t beg for release, can’t move or he’ll be punished. Though which is worse--blowing his load or shoving Seunghyun’s hand away just so he doesn’t? Jiyong screws his eyes shut and attempts to prevent either from happening, letting out a grunt of determination when he feels Seunghyun’s thumb pushing against his slit, smearing the evidence of his excitement all over the head, which only serves to excite him further.

 

There’s a throaty chuckle and the pumping increases in speed. “So tenacious,” Seunghyun muses.

 

More grunting, more strangled moans. Beads of sweat form at his temples and collect in his hairline; drip into the ridges of his ears, trail down his neck. Jiyong is overheating. He can sense the flush of his skin as he grits his teeth and tries not to squirm, except his orgasm has reached its boiling point and he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Fingers clenching and knuckles white, Jiyong bears down against the bed, pleading with his eyes.

 

Seunghyun listens, and though the stroking ends, his hold remains--giving his cock a gentle squeeze--and Jiyong can’t stop the way his legs spread apart. Whether to ease some of the pressure or seek more out, he doesn’t know. But Seunghyun’s eyebrow arches in warning and Jiyong goes very still, exhaling unsteadily and groaning when Seunghyun starts to move his fist again, returning him to the brink.

 

His desire for release is almost too tempting as he struggles to control himself. He won’t last if Seunghyun continues to push him like this; knows Seunghyun is well aware of that fact, and Jiyong’s utter relief when he lets go at the very last moment leaves him trembling. Panting and so desperate that he nearly swears, a string of choice expletives on the tip of his tongue, but he manages to keep it in by gnawing on his lip and huffing lungfuls of air through his nose.

 

Bringing a hand up, Seunghyun smoothes the wrinkles away from his forehead. His eyelashes flicker and his fingers unfurl and some of the tension dissipates. Jiyong looks at Seunghyun, sees him looking back with that same cocktail of admiration and affection.

 

“I think I’m truly going to enjoy breaking you in,” Seunghyun remarks.

 

A new thrill shoots through him at the promise in his voice, Jiyong daring to lift his head and nuzzle into Seunghyun’s touch.

 

“Something tells me you agree.”

 

He smiles in answer. Seunghyun laughs softly, hand slipping away.

 

“Get on your knees.”

 

On weakened arms, Jiyong pushes off from the mattress, movements careful as he does as he’s told. After he kneels, Seunghyun sets the rope aside and stands, coming to the foot of the bed. He reaches out, beckoning with two fingers crooked. Jiyong scootches closer.

 

“Down.”

 

The instant his palms meet the bed, Seunghyun takes him by the chin, his face inches from the prominent bulge of Seunghyun’s erection. It has his stomach clenching for a different reason now and Jiyong can’t help himself when he licks his lips and stares. Because the thought of having Seunghyun in his mouth--bringing him pleasure, being good to him--is so overwhelming that he almost forgets his place.

 

Seunghyun jerks his chin higher, reclaiming his attention before he can do anything stupid. “Is that what you want?” he asks, tone brimming with sly amusement. “My cock?”

 

Jiyong nods stiffly, but the fingers on his jaw clench a bit tighter.

 

“Speak.”

 

“Y-yes, sir.”

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, I want your cock, sir.”

 

The grip on his chin moves to his hair, Seunghyun burying long fingers in the mess of his bun and pulling him right up against his crotch.

 

“Go on.”

 

Without hesitation, Jiyong slides his tongue out, trailing it along the shaft through the material of Seunghyun’s slacks. He mouths lightly at the head and a sharp jolt of arousal hits him in the gut when Seunghyun makes a noise. This half-formed moan that gets stuck somewhere in his throat. Encouraged, Jiyong sucks more enthusiastically, wetting the fabric with his saliva, just barely grazing his cock with the ridges of his teeth. He’s rewarded by a much louder noise this time, Seunghyun’s hips pushing roughly into Jiyong’s mouth, and Jiyong groans in satisfaction. It spurs him on. As does the fierce hold on his hair. He can’t move much, but he tries to nose his way lower to Seunghyun’s balls, letting the heat of his breath seep through, letting his tongue tease.

 

“Enough,” Seunghyun grits out and rips him away.

 

Panting, Jiyong observes his hooded eyes and parted lips, notices how red they are, probably from being bitten. But then something dark flashes across Seunghyun’s face and Jiyong gets hauled up onto his knees--those red lips slamming into his--and he doesn’t even care that they’ve already been rubbed raw, because Seunghyun is kissing him so hard he feels delirious. To the point where he doesn’t think, only lifts his hands and latches onto Seunghyun’s shirt and lets him take whatever he wants.

 

A little less violently, Jiyong is pulled back again a moment later, met with the singular vision of a Seunghyun finally robbed of his composure. He’s too dumbfounded and kiss-drunk to smile. Mouth tingling, pulse frenetic. Jiyong watches the mask slip haphazardly into place, Seunghyun’s eyes the one thing still giving him away, and he gasps as his head jerks to the side.

 

“I’m going to restrain you now,” Seunghyun rasps, nuzzling at his ear. “Spread your legs for me.”

 

Jiyong’s breath quickens and he complies, winning himself a playful nip on his jaw. He sighs in pleasure when Seunghyun bites him once more, this lovely tremor winding along the length of his spine.

 

“Back on your hands.”

 

Unclenching his fingers from Seunghyun’s shirt, Jiyong lowers himself to the bed, Seunghyun’s touch fading as he walks away. A pillow appears under him then, pressure on the nape of his neck easing him down until his cheek and shoulders hit linen. Seunghyun caresses the valley between his shoulder blades and further up the tilted slope of his body, following his curves, squeezing gently at his ass and his thigh. Jiyong closes his eyes when Seunghyun grasps one of his arms and pulls it back towards his feet. He feels the first blissful slide of rope against his skin--allows his mind to find blankness again, comforted by the knowledge that Seunghyun will take care of him.

 

It’s so instinctive for Jiyong to hover there, just barely cognizant of his wrists being bound to the outsides of his ankles or the faint noises whenever Seunghyun moves. His heartbeat calms, breaths coming slower. An ache starts to build in his muscles from the strain of his position and Jiyong celebrates it, because now he truly is at Seunghyun’s mercy, and his lips quirk upwards into a small smile.

 

Jiyong hears Seunghyun rise from the bed, then it’s the dull clunk of shoes on the wooden floor; a zipper being pulled down, the closet door squeaking. His smile broadens and he shifts slightly on the bed, testing the give of his restraints. Tight enough to prevent escape but not so tight that he’ll lose circulation yet. Jiyong squirms a little, wanting the twinge in his shoulders and his back. Needing to feel the extent of his vulnerability. He exhales, relaxing against the sheets. But the sudden sensation of fingers gliding up his spine takes him by surprise and he jumps.

 

Eyes lifting, he finds Seunghyun naked and bent over him, face close.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“Very well, sir,” Jiyong mumbles.

 

Which makes Seunghyun chuckle and he nods before disappearing from view. Jiyong barely has a second to process the sight of all that skin when the bed jostles and his pulse spikes, body tensing in preparation. But still he jumps at the contact, gasping faintly as Seunghyun’s palm trails along his waist and higher.

 

“Easy,” he soothes, thumb delving between Jiyong’s cheeks to rub at his hole and Jiyong moans, arching into it.

 

Seunghyun continues stroking the puckered ring of muscle in lazy circles, teasing until he begins to whimper. He almost shouts when he feels it replaced by the wetness of Seunghyun’s tongue and his knees inch wider apart as he pushes back, wanting him deeper.

 

“Such a needy boy,” Seunghyun murmurs, teeth raking across the swell of his ass.

 

Jiyong groans, knowing he probably shouldn’t have begged, even if it was silent. Because now the torture will only get worse, his suspicions confirmed when Seunghyun’s tongue travels away from his asshole to swirl against his perineum. To lick at the insides of his thighs and the underside of his balls. He trembles, desperate noises spilling from his mouth, cock hardening again as his arousal mounts to the point of being painful. Jiyong has to clench his jaw to keep himself from speaking. From pleading and moaning Seunghyun’s name. He almost fails when Seunghyun presses his tongue flat, dragging it along the cleft of his ass to lave at his hole. A strained whimper vibrates in the back of his throat and Jiyong swivels his hips, unable to stop because it’s too much.

 

But Seunghyun remains relentless, teasing the ridge of his opening with tiny flicks of tongue, dipping inside ever so slightly and then withdrawing. He repeats this countless times, pushing further after every swipe, and Jiyong can feel his muscles twitch and spasm, so very eager for more.

 

It’s a fantastic sort of hell, being tormented with pleasure. Being tormented for Seunghyun’s pleasure. Jiyong could stay here in this state forever, letting his Sir use him until he’s wrecked. And it’s in this moment that he goes limp and stops squirming and gives himself over to the constant waves of sensation.

 

Seunghyun picks up on the change immediately--doubling his efforts, the fluttering of his tongue becoming more intense. He shudders and jerks through it, feeling Seunghyun manually tilt his hips and spread his cheeks to push deeper still. But when long fingers pass over his balls to form a tight ring at the base of his cock, Jiyong cries out.

 

“Are you gonna come?” Seunghyun asks, his heavy breaths hot against Jiyong’s skin.

 

“N-no, Sir.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Y--” he chokes on his reply, Seunghyun’s hand sliding up the length of his shaft, and he sucks in a lungful of air. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

All points of contact vanish then, Jiyong’s everything throbbing in unison as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. He releases a thin sigh and adjusts his head on the pillow, trying to relieve some of the stress on his neck, something that doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

Seunghyun strokes Jiyong’s lower back, digging his thumb into the muscles that bracket the notches of his spine. “You okay?”

 

The fact that Seunghyun is consistently attentive despite the setting makes it hard to speak, so he just nods, staring at the wall and processing what he’s feeling. Like the burst of warmth that pools in his stomach after he arches into that hand and Seunghyun answers--teeth sinking into the flesh of his thigh and licking the mark he left behind. Jiyong hums, content.

 

His mind wanders and he kind of zones out, gaze locked on a piece of art hanging across from him. A reproduction of a painting that he can’t place. It’s old. Famous. Paris on a rainy day. Jiyong is in the midst of wondering why Seunghyun liked it enough to put it in his bedroom when a slick finger nudges against his hole and eases in to the first knuckle and then the second. He stiffens, clenching around it briefly before going lax. One finger becomes two. Jiyong chews on his lip and releases a soft moan.

 

Thorough as always, Seunghyun slowly works him into a panting mess. Not that it takes much. Jiyong’s been near the edge of orgasm for so long he’s almost afraid to come, legs shaking as Seunghyun massages the area surrounding his prostate, but never quite touching it. The pillow beneath his cheek is starting to get damp with sweat and his whining isn’t just from pleasure anymore. His joints hurt, every movement sending a ripple of discomfort through each limb. Though the ache is a form of pleasure in itself. A sign of being worn out at Seunghyun’s hand. Jiyong knows that when Seunghyun is done with him, he’ll hardly be able to move, and he bears that thought with a smile.

 

But the wet sound of Seunghyun’s fingers pumping inside of him sends a different kind of ripple tingling through his body. One that makes it difficult to keep fighting off his climax. He rocks back against him, the burn in his thighs creeping towards agonizing. Jiyong won’t be able to hold himself up soon and he sags a bit, groaning into the pillow.

 

Then the fingers disappear, his noise of protest at the loss cut off by the head of Seunghyun’s cock replacing them. His jaw cracks open and no sound comes out as Seunghyun pushes forward, sliding in easily until his hips are flush with Jiyong’s ass. Jiyong inhales, shaky, his face crumpled but not in pain. He’s something he doesn’t have a name for, satisfaction falling short of how perfect he is in this moment. Seunghyun grips his waist, positioning him higher, and he whimpers.

 

Jiyong loses sense of time and place in that gap between being penetrated and the first thrust, his awareness totally dominated by how Seunghyun fills him up. How his hands fit over Jiyong’s hips and keep him there, even when he squeezes around Seunghyun’s cock and draws out a stuttered breath from Seunghyun’s lips. After he does it again, the hold on his hips turns bruising.

 

“Careful.”

 

“Sorry, Sir. You--” Jiyong gasps, a sob forced out of him when Seunghyun pulls out and slams forward unexpectedly.

 

He leans down, planting his hands on either side of Jiyong’s head, studying him intently. “I, what?”

 

Jiyong pants and closes his eyes, having trouble finding his voice as Seunghyun grinds against his ass. “You just feel--”

 

Another quick snap forward. He moans loudly, fingers clenched tightly into fists at his ankles. Seunghyun brushes his lips along the curve of his shoulder.

 

“How do I feel?”

 

“Incredible,” Jiyong blurts, rewarded by yet another swift and shallow thrust.

 

The sound of Seunghyun’s pleased, rumbling, breathless laughter on top of everything else is like adding salt to a wound, his mind already frayed; body delightfully used. He grins, though. Because Seunghyun is happy--his matching smile plastered against Jiyong’s shoulder blade--and that’s all he needs to know.

 

Rising back up, Seunghyun rolls his hips and falls into a steady rhythm, pushing all the way inside of Jiyong with each thrust, making him rock on the bed. The drag of Seunghyun’s cock is so fantastic that he’s not sure he can hold off from coming, muscles spasming as he struggles to keep it together. Worse, when Seunghyun fucks into him harder, fingers clamped around Jiyong’s hips, emitting noises that should be illegal. He grunts and whines, shuddering and helpless against the endless waves of arousal.

 

Seunghyun inhales sharply, movements slowing, sounding just as ruined now. Jiyong is surprised when he pulls out completely then, not anticipating the hands that flip him over until he’s flat on his back, knees splayed wide. Without hesitation, Seunghyun pushes back inside, looming above Jiyong as he pumps into him, the slap of their skin loud in the otherwise silent room. He’s so close to losing it, having a sweaty, golden Seunghyun stare at him, like he’s a gift. And finally, _finally_ the words he wants to hear most leave those beautiful fucking lips in a strained sigh.

 

“Come for me.”

 

So Jiyong does, abandoning the final threads of his restraint, and it’s both remarkable and painful, his entire body vibrating and going rigid as he ejaculates onto his own stomach. Seunghyun is still moving inside of him, another layer of discomfort that Jiyong barely contemplates as his head lolls on the pillow, feeling like he’s about to float out of his skin. A few sharp thrusts later and Seunghyun joins him, collapsing on top of Jiyong with a quiet groan.

 

They both lie there, beyond spent, Jiyong’s face smushed in the damp mess of Seunghyun’s hair while they recover. As far as he’s concerned, he’s never leaving this bed ever again. But Seunghyun somehow manages to hoist himself up. He passes a hand over Jiyong’s hair; drops a kiss on his mouth. It’s sweet and soft and definitely needed, it’s just that Jiyong can’t even think clearly let alone actively participate in anything. This doesn’t dissuade Seunghyun in the least and he brushes another kiss against Jiyong’s parted lips, obviously knowing from experience how important it is to be gentle with his submissives after a session.

 

Jiyong doesn’t flinch when Seunghyun eases off of him. He just gazes blankly at the ceiling and listens--to his heart pounding in his ears, the creak of the floorboards when Seunghyun ducks into the bathroom and then returns. The ropes are unraveled gradually, Seunghyun just as gentle when he unfolds Jiyong’s sore legs and stretches them out on the bed, massaging his joints and his muscles as he goes. Not a single inch of him is left untouched. And strangely, Jiyong feels a stinging behind his eyes. Because the meticulous nature of Seunghyun’s affection is still new. Because the way he’s being touched is so much more than restorative. Seunghyun never climbs off the bed without leaving a kiss somewhere on his body; doesn’t roll him over until after he’s used a warm washcloth to clean him up. Then the process starts again and Jiyong lets the unfamiliar tears collect in his eyelashes when they slip shut.

 

As before, reality ceases to exist here in this space where he’s both himself and nothing at the same time. Where he’s hyper-aware of being connected to Seunghyun through the physical as well as the emotional--literal and metaphorical putty in Seunghyun’s hands--and he melts further into the bed. There’s a tugging at his hair tie, the band being removed, then fingers combing through the long strands. Knuckles graze the swell of his cheek and Jiyong sluggishly opens his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Seunghyun whispers, eyebrows furrowed as he wipes away some moisture at the crease of Jiyong’s eyelid.

 

He tries to respond, but his “hi” comes out as more air than sound.

 

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

 

Jiyong shakes his head and attempts a smile, hand drifting along the sheets until it reaches Seunghyun, rubbing at his thigh.

 

“Not hurt,” he utters faintly. “Just...overwhelmed.”

 

Comprehension dawns on Seunghyun’s face and the next thing Jiyong knows, Seunghyun is crawling back onto the bed and gathering him up in his arms. It’s astoundingly easy to burrow closer, to be enveloped completely and drink Seunghyun in--the combination of sweat and sex and traces of cologne more comforting than Jiyong would’ve thought. He lets himself be pet and stroked, lulled into a hazy half-conscious state while he waits for Seunghyun’s inevitable question.

 

“Overwhelmed by what?”

 

Jiyong smiles in full now, nuzzling cat-like at the spot just above Seunghyun’s collarbone. “The way you touch me,” he murmurs, lips catching on his skin as he speaks.

 

Cradling the back of Jiyong’s head, Seunghyun leans away just enough to look him in the eye, pinning him there with the weight of his gaze. “Overwhelmed” quickly becomes an inaccurate description for what he’s going through and he fumbles for some way to communicate this, moving to press his fingers to Seunghyun’s neck, his knee pushing between Seunghyun’s legs. Jiyong gasps when he gets tugged closer still, Seunghyun’s other hand gripping firmly at his ass. They exchange breaths, noses bumping. He’s not surprised that the anticipation before a kiss is devastating, even now, and he sinks his fingers into Seunghyun’s hair before surging forward to fit their mouths together.

 

The aches and pains of his body are dull in comparison to the meeting of their tongues, something wild and profoundly raw taking up residence inside of him. Jiyong’s throat constricts and suddenly he’s being pulled under a second time, his arms circling Seunghyun’s neck in an effort to anchor himself. Because so much of what they say to each other happens like this: a hybrid of tangible and intangible, but always silent.

 

They stay that way for a long while, locked together until the late hour and their exhaustion become impossible to ignore. Seunghyun yawns and Jiyong chuckles. He trails a hand over Seunghyun’s face, his fingertips lightly exploring over his eyelids and his cheeks--the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin. Jiyong mouths softly at the lines formed by years of laughter. He can’t help but hope that he’ll be around to witness the appearance of new lines. Maybe even be the cause of one or two.

 

Smiling, Seunghyun looks up at him. “What are you doing?”

 

“Committing you to memory. I don’t want to forget anything.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Yeah.” Jiyong presses his thumb into the dimple indenting Seunghyun’s cheek. “But I like learning about you.”

 

Seunghyun huffs out a laugh and his smile grows.

 

“I’ll give you a crash course in the morning.”

 

“Okay” He grins. “I’d like that.”

 

It takes them a few minutes to find the motivation to draw apart, but they eventually do, Seunghyun rearranging them on the bed and guiding Jiyong beneath the covers.

 

Sleepiness hits him almost instantly, his eyes closed before the sheets are even drawn up around them. But Jiyong is still aware of being pulled back against Seunghyun’s chest and he fades into unconsciousness with the even rhythm of Seunghyun’s breath at his ear.

 

*

 

In the months that follow, Jiyong learns a lot about Seunghyun. Like the way he takes his coffee and that he wears glasses when he reads. Or that he’s a creature of habit, always performing the same routine every morning and every evening, and it’s hilarious whenever Jiyong becomes the wrench in the gears. Usually, it’s not intentional, but he loves pushing Seunghyun’s buttons just as much as he loves being pushed and that brief moment when Seunghyun realizes he has to step outside of his pattern is everything. Because the most exciting thing is learning how to exist together in the same space. Jiyong thinks they slipped into it pretty easily, but a relationship is always work even when it doesn’t feel like work.

 

It helps that their ability to communicate with each other is second to none. Never in all of his twenty-four years has he been so transparent with another person and been offered the same. Freely and without expectations or demands. Which is kind of a gigantic headtrip, Jiyong still experiencing that sense of awe any time he stops and takes a step back to remind himself that this is his life. That he got what he wanted. _More_ than what he wanted.

 

Because more than having his needs met, Jiyong loves Seunghyun for all that he is and isn’t.

 

Obviously that doesn’t mean they’re without their flaws, and Jiyong isn’t afraid to give a voice to his anger or frustration or even his happiness. They don’t criticize, they create a dialogue. Their arguments, if you can even call them that, involve shit like what they’re doing for dinner and which companies manufacture the best floggers. Sometimes they get so serious that Jiyong will just dissolve into giggles because he can’t believe they’re actually fighting about leather quality, of all things, but he wouldn’t want it to ever change.

 

Tonight, though, their evening is quieter than most. The television is on at a low hum, filling the living room with background noise while Jiyong stares at nothing in particular--head in Seunghyun’s lap and legs folded up on the couch cushions. They’re watching one of those interchangeable crime procedurals that he can never keep track of, and if he were with anyone else he wouldn’t think twice about it, except he’s with Seunghyun and Seunghyun does weird things when he’s stressed out. Like watch really bad TV and spend hours rearranging all the art in his house. Jiyong knows it’s because of the speech he has to give at a big charity event this weekend. Normally Seunghyun would be fine, he’s been doing this for years, but from what Jiyong understands this is actually a Huge Deal. Their sessions have become more frequent as a result. Not that he minds, grad school has been a headache and they’ve both needed the additional stress relief. He just wishes he could offer something that was less temporary.

 

Scratching his nails along Jiyong’s scalp, Seunghyun sighs, attention seemingly devoted to the flat screen mounted on the wall, but he’s only half-listening. The rest of him is focused on every shift of Jiyong’s body when he squirms and fidgets in an effort to ignore the way those fingers are getting him worked up. He can tell by the smirk on Seunghyun’s face and the way he starts to play with Jiyong’s gauged earlobe, tugging on it until he laughs.

 

“What?” Jiyong huffs, smiling.

 

“Don’t you have a thirty page paper on economic structural change due Friday?” Seunghyun asks, gaze glued to the TV.

 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

 

“Not at all. But if I’m distracting you from assignments…”

 

He sits up and turns around. “I finished it after my shift this morning.” Seunghyun’s eyes slide over to look at Jiyong then and he reaches out to cup Jiyong’s cheek. “Besides, you’re always distracting,” he continues, leaning shamelessly into the contact.

 

“Am I?”

 

“Don’t play dumb.” Jiyong tilts his head and presses his lips to the edge of Seunghyun’s palm. “You know what you do to me.”

 

The elegant arch of a thick brow raises in challenge at that--dark eyes glimmering with interest when he sways closer, his nose just barely grazing Seunghyun’s cheek, hand resting on his leg. He hovers there for a moment and breathes in slowly, the chatter from the television a muddled blur behind him. Seunghyun moves to clasp Jiyong by the back of the neck and waits.

 

“In fact, I’ve been fantasizing about you all day,” he murmurs, nudging into Seunghyun. “About the weight of your cock on my tongue, lips stretched wide while you fuck my mouth.”

 

His hand inches upwards and kneads into the crease of Seunghyun’s thigh, teasing. It’s dangerous to tease, he knows that, but he’s more than prepared to accept the consequences. Especially when Jiyong watches those long eyelashes flutter as he does it again.

 

“Did you get hard?” Seunghyun asks, squeezing his neck.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you touch yourself?”

 

Jiyong eases forward and rests his forehead against Seunghyun’s, arousal growing heavy in his gut. “No,” he whispers.

 

“Good boy,” Seunghyun praises, stroking his way up into Jiyong’s hair. “You deserve a reward.”

 

Emboldened by Seunghyun’s approval, he gradually cups him through his slacks, winning himself a slight gasp, Seunghyun spreading his legs. “Please,” Jiyong begs softly.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I want to make you come.”

 

Seunghyun grins even as Jiyong palms him more firmly--eyes never leaving his; hitched breath the only evidence of his composure slipping.

 

“Have you studied for your Anthro exam?”

 

Jiyong releases a quiet laugh and smirks back. “Yes, Daddy.”

 

Humming, Seunghyun holds him in place, lightly touching their lips together. “Then get on your knees.”

 

A subtle rush of joy hits him square in the chest once he’s granted permission, unable to restrain himself when he kisses Seunghyun hard on the mouth.

 

“Thank you,” Jiyong sighs, even though it’s not nearly enough.

 

Because another thing he’s learned after all this time, is that Seunghyun is incapable of denying him anything. Unless, of course, he requests otherwise, but that’s just a different form of giving Jiyong what he wants. And as he crawls off the couch, taking his place on the floor between Seunghyun’s legs, he wonders how it’s possible for two people to complement each other so thoroughly despite their differences. Not that he has any illusions about who really holds the power in this relationship. Seunghyun is his dominant and Jiyong will always kneel willingly. It’s just that, for Seunghyun to treat him simultaneously as a submissive and an equal...

 

Jiyong peers up at him then, fingers pausing at the zipper on his pants, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I was thinking about how I don’t deserve you.”

 

Seunghyun snorts, actually rolling his eyes as he bends over to take Jiyong’s face in his hands.

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“I know.”

 

And then Seunghyun’s mouth is on his, kissing him in that way that makes his heart feel like it’s too big for his body, and he pushes Seunghyun into the couch because it’s too much.

 

“But you love me anyway,” Jiyong mumbles against his lips, already working his zipper open and sliding his fingers into the waistband of his underwear.

 

With a low moan, Seunghyun rolls his hips up into Jiyong’s hand, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “Y-yeah,” he breathes, “I do.”

 

Beaming, Jiyong pulls away, wanting to watch. One of his favorite things is witnessing the exact moment when Seunghyun lets go--to actually see him relinquish his control--and he marvels at it as he strokes him. Marvels at the curve of his neck when he tips backwards onto the cushions. The soft noises; his hooded gaze. How he sort of smiles when Jiyong’s fingers grip him a little tighter. But it’s the give and take that really gets him, the way Seunghyun allows himself to be vulnerable, even in moments like this. And it’s so easy to remember why he fell in love with him in the first place.

 

When Jiyong dips down to slide Seunghyun into his mouth, a fuzzy heat begins to collect in the pit of his stomach. Because this is where he belongs. Where he feels most himself; on his knees, at Seunghyun’s feet. And when Seunghyun looks at him, eyes bright with adoration as he traces the stretch of Jiyong’s lips around his cock, he feels pride. Because his happiness is Jiyong’s happiness and, as a submissive, there is no higher purpose than that.

 

For a while, Jiyong studies his face. Just stares back at him and basks in the way Seunghyun pets his hair, telling him what a good boy he is every time he moans and bucks his hips, pushing his cock deeper.

 

But at some point he stops thinking altogether and lets his mind go blissfully empty and blank--lets his jaw open and his throat relax--until there’s nothing else in his universe save for the incomparable sound of Seunghyun’s pleasure.

 


	3. (s)extra one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: temperature play (as in hot wax and ice cubes), some name-calling, handjobs. if i missed anything else, let me know.
> 
> this takes place before the epilogue at the end of the main fic.

In the early stages of their relationship, Jiyong found that he had difficulty asking for things. Things he’d never requested before from anyone. Things he didn’t even know he wanted until Seunghyun became the safe space he needed to explore, play, grow. Because in the past, the people he sought out were nothing more than an outlet. A conduit through which Jiyong could scratch the itch--that ever-present clawing in the pit of his stomach, the thing that made him fidget when he let his thoughts wander--toes tapping and fingers in perpetual motion. Because everything he’d experienced pre-Seunghyun had amounted to a patchwork design that never seemed quite right. One of the squares too bright, another with the wrong pattern, the balance skewed and haphazardly arranged.

 

But once there was order, once there was finally someone to be his constant? Jiyong realized how scary it was to actually open himself up to what had always been lurking in the back of his mind, waiting to be noticed.

 

Patient in everything, Seunghyun had encouraged him in all the ways subtle and obvious. Sometimes it was in the form of a direct question. A command as much as a lesson in articulating his desires. Other times Jiyong wasn’t even paying attention to what was happening until Seunghyun had him explaining and dissecting the reasons why he liked the things he did, words flowing from his mouth while Seunghyun toyed with his fingers, giving them somewhere to settle.

 

Now that they’ve been together for little over a month, Jiyong thinks it’s getting easier. He doesn’t hesitate as much, doesn’t blush so hard when trying to describe exactly what it is he wants Seunghyun to do to him. It’s not even like he’s asking for anything crazy, but there are still times when he trips himself up, uncertainty creeping in. Part of it is because Seunghyun still freaks him out. With his generosity, his intelligence, the way he picks up on Jiyong’s body language like he wrote the fucking owner’s manual. He hesitates because he knows he can’t hide and he’s grateful that Seunghyun never calls attention to that fact--letting Jiyong bloom for him at his own pace, building an environment that reinforces the trust that brought them here.

 

Often, Jiyong imagines he’s dreaming. Because even when they’re working through the hiccups in their communication, it’s good. It’s so fucking good. And fulfilling. And _theirs_. Hell, if he’s dreaming, he doesn’t want to wake up. Not in a million years.

 

Biting down on a smile, Jiyong checks the time, noting that Seunghyun should be walking through the door in about fifteen minutes. They’d planned a session this evening, one that he’s been looking forward to ever since he decided it was something he wanted to explore more thoroughly. Jiyong is no stranger to ice cubes and hot wax, but the finer points of temperature play were definitely lost on most of his previous partners.

 

Needless to say, Seunghyun is all about _the finer points_.

 

Which is another thing he’s not used to, that kind of attention to detail. It’s intimidating. Appreciated, too, but mostly something he’s still learning to adapt to. Because Seunghyun is just as thorough outside of their sessions, if not more so.

 

Jiyong repositions his weight, trying to keep the circulation going. He’s been kneeling on the bedroom floor ever since he got back from work an hour ago, as instructed.

 

_Kneel, and wait._

 

That was it. Though he’s also learning how to translate the things Seunghyun doesn’t say out loud. For instance, “wait” means not glancing at the clock on the side table every thirty fucking seconds, but Jiyong is anxious. And it doesn’t matter what he does, Seunghyun is going to spot that anxiousness the instant he steps into the room. So he doesn’t hide it, he just...is what he is, and there will either be consequences or comfort, both of which Jiyong is prepared to accept.

 

 _Five minutes_.

 

He inhales slowly through his nose and makes himself close his eyes--arms folding behind his back and chin tucking down into his chest. Against habit, he doesn’t listen for noises signaling Seunghyun’s arrival, just counts each breath and focuses on being nothing. Except the rapid beating of his heart kind of makes that a challenge.

 

As it always does, time passes strangely when Jiyong stops thinking about its existence. He feels the shape of his own body; notes how his knees have started to ache in the way he likes, how his limbs seem heavier. He’s admittedly surprised when the door creaks, but he doesn’t open his eyes, just waits obediently for new instructions.

 

The door shuts quietly, Seunghyun’s patent leather oxfords tapping against the floorboards as he moves closer. Jiyong almost laughs at the fact that he knows what shoes Seunghyun is wearing based on the way they hit the wood. Knows, because he’s been in this position enough times to recognize the differences. It fills him with an odd sort of pleasure and he tries to control the shiver that tingles down from his neck.

 

Fingertips smooth over Jiyong’s hair and he doesn’t even think about curbing his response, eagerly lifting his chin to press back into the caress. He hears Seunghyun’s breath of laughter and his stomach clenches in response.

 

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun murmurs, just loud enough and firm enough to guess what’s coming. “Open your eyes.”

 

He does.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Jiyong’s gaze travels the entire length of Seunghyun, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he takes in the impeccably tailored slacks and white dress shirt--sleeves rolled up and top three buttons already undone, exposing a hint of collarbone. He doesn’t linger, despite wanting to, and the gentle amusement he finds at the end of his journey doesn’t match the concerned slope of Seunghyun’s eyebrows. Jiyong isn’t sure how to translate that, shifting slightly on his knees. His hands twitch where they’re curled around his forearms and then the amusement fades.

 

“You seem restless. Why?”

 

He chews at the inside of his cheek; doesn’t dare look away.

 

“Shit day at work, sir,” Jiyong offers in response. Which is true.

 

Seunghyun studies him closely and he can see the way he’s turning over his thoughts one by one. The way Seunghyun searches Jiyong’s face for more information before continuing.

 

“Do you want to forego the session?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“You’re sure,” Seunghyun prompts, a single brow ticking upwards in warning.

 

Because if Jiyong isn’t sure and he says yes anyway, he’ll be punished. But regardless of the desperation swelling in his chest to feel something other than whatever it is he’s feeling right now, Jiyong isn’t being reckless. He needs this. And when he squares his shoulders, chin tilting a little higher, he makes sure Seunghyun can see how much.

 

“Yes, sir,” he answers, voice soft but steady.

 

Whatever doubts Seunghyun had disappear in the next instant, that subtle flicker in his eyes telling Jiyong that it’s show time.

 

“Stand,” Seunghyun orders.

 

Jiyong complies, legs sore and prickling as the blood starts to flow through them again, and Seunghyun regards him with a sense of calm detachment, hands in his pockets. He thrives on the authority rippling out from Seunghyun’s everything--the casual, unwavering dominance that attracted him in the first place. It’s like fucking catnip and he’s already getting hard, cock straining against the tightness of his jeans.

 

He forces himself not to take the indifference personally. Because there are lines that are starting to blur between them and when he watches Seunghyun’s expression falter, replaced by a fondness that’s usually reserved for more intimate moments, he takes comfort in knowing that he’s not the only one.

 

Especially when it seems as though Seunghyun might step forward, a hand starting to slip from his pocket before he apparently thinks better of it. And just as quickly, the indifference settles back into place.

 

“Get undressed. I’ll come for you when I’m ready.”

 

Jiyong doesn’t release the breath he was holding until after Seunghyun is gone.

 

He thinks they should probably discuss this later, the fact that it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep themselves out of the equation. Themselves, as in the way they feel about each other. As in, not being able to separate these two vastly different but equally important parts of who they are. Parts that he believes don’t need to be separated anyway because they’re both sane and they can handle it if things get weird.

 

Honestly, he’s not even sure why they agreed to put up parameters like this to begin with. Jiyong knew they wouldn’t be able to organize themselves into neat little boxes. They’re people. People are messy. It’s why they have rules. Limits. Emotional attachment was never on that list and if they want to keep doing this, which Jiyong is pretty fucking certain they both do, they’ll need to learn how to balance that with the rest. Because sometimes he _wants_ Seunghyun’s fingers affectionately trailing over his face in the middle of a session. Sometimes he wants the soft mixed with the hard and he doesn’t think they should have to restrain themselves for the sake of _roleplaying_.

 

Besides, the rules they make are their own. There’s no playbook for this shit. And he misses the unfiltered intensity of the first time--wonders why that was the exception.

 

Though, to be fair, most of this is Jiyong’s fucking fault for not saying anything yet.

 

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, yanking the tie out and letting it drape freely down his back. His shirt goes next, followed by his jeans and his socks and his boxers. All of his clothes get folded and set aside on the floor, Jiyong kneeling again even though he technically doesn’t have to. It’s just that he’s still a little out of it, his submissive headspace seeming more elusive than usual, and he really needs to center himself.

 

So he leans forward and presses his forehead against the wooden floorboards--palms lying flat on either side of his head--and he breathes.

 

Jiyong acknowledges that he feels needy right now. He exhales and lets it go. Jiyong acknowledges that he’s frustrated, inhaling and exhaling and letting that go, too. He reminds himself that being denied what he wants is something he enjoys, the reward of finally getting it always tenfold, and he lets the air hang suspended in his lungs for several beats before allowing it to leak gradually from his mouth.

 

Seunghyun must’ve realized Jiyong required the time to do this, not returning for a long while. Not that he would’ve been able to say how many minutes passed, he’s too empty to notice, floating there in mental limbo when all of a sudden a hand touches the back of his head.

 

“Get up,” Seunghyun instructs, voice low.

 

On unsteady arms and legs, Jiyong manages to do so, swaying in place as he blinks the fog away. He smiles at Seunghyun and Seunghyun smiles in return and Jiyong thinks the burst of happiness in his chest might actually kill him. It gets worse when Seunghyun fixes his hair, gently tucking it behind his ears. Though the strip of black fabric in his fingers has a jolt of anticipation singing through Jiyong’s veins, because he forgot about the blindfold. _How could I forget the fucking blindfold?_

 

The smile on Seunghyun’s face curls into a smirk, glinting eyes locked on his, and it’s the last thing he sees before his world goes dark.

 

Cool satin glides against his skin, Jiyong’s next exhale hitching in his throat when the material gets pulled tight and tied off in a knot. Robbed of sight, he feels more unbalanced than ever, hands fluttering at his sides and heart beating erratically, but not in panic. No, Jiyong is _excited_. Turned on. Pleased to be at Seunghyun’s mercy.

 

 _Always pleased_.

 

A faint caress dusts across his collarbones and Jiyong startles, this delicious combination of arousal and goosebumps crawling along every inch of skin. He shivers as it roams over his neck and around to follow the notches in his spine, sliding under the curtain of his hair and coming to rest between his shoulder blades. Seunghyun’s other hand pushes his hair aside, supple lips brushing Jiyong’s nape. He gasps faintly, a new wave of heat passing through him to settle in his gut, because it wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. And Jiyong resists the tug of frustration he feels when he realizes he doesn’t know exactly what it was for.

 

“Walk. I’ll guide you.”

 

He’s reluctant to move, his first step forward a bit awkward, but Seunghyun’s hands fall to take hold of his hips and steady him. Jiyong tries not to lock his knees, tries not to tense up in fear of running into anything. Seunghyun chuckles behind him and his mouth pulls and stretches into a grin.

 

They migrate through the hallway, cooler air washing over his skin only to be replaced by a cloying warmth when they enter what he assumes is one of the guest bedrooms. Seunghyun’s hands squeeze and he stops. The door shuts.

 

“Turn around.”

 

Jiyong spins slowly, two thumbs rubbing against his hipbones and lazily pushing him backwards until he meets resistance, his hands shooting out to catch himself. It’s the massage table, he thinks, covered in a thin sheet.

 

“Lie down,” Seunghyun murmurs. Jiyong can hear the smirk in his voice.

 

Anticipation fills his stomach as he hoists himself onto the table, breath coming quicker, his cock half hard and getting harder. Jiyong wonders if Seunghyun is just standing there watching him, because it’s so quiet it’s almost like he isn’t there at all. Which is unsettling and arousing in equal parts.

 

He exhales shakily, relaxing as much as possible. He knows nothing will happen until he does, but it’s not easy, not when he has to force the thought of Seunghyun’s touch from his mind. Not when he has to actively restrain the severity of his desire for what’s coming, another stuttered exhale escaping from between his lips. Jiyong jolts a bit at the sound of Seunghyun clearing his throat and his toes curl.

 

“Hands above your head.”

 

Arms lifting, he revels in the strong grip around his wrists--the snug press of leather cuffs in their wake and the clink of metal when he’s secured to the table. His ankles follow suit, Jiyong flexing his muscles, stretching in satisfaction. But then Seunghyun’s breath swells at his ear, seeping through the fabric of the blindfold, and he trembles.

 

“Good boy,” Seunghyun whispers, voice caressing like the softest fingertips.

 

Two simple words. Two words, and Jiyong is rendered catatonic with joy, his entire body languid, head lolling against the inside of his arm as he grins. There’s no real way to describe how it feels to hear that--that magical combination of adoration and pride, all coiled together in Seunghyun’s deep, confident rumble. Jiyong rolls his hips, riding the tension, riding the pleasure coursing under his skin, and he can’t stop the little strained moan that slips out when Seunghyun’s nose drags along the side of his neck.

 

Because even though they’ve barely gotten started, everything is so much more when he can’t see. And Jiyong will be the first to admit how tightly wound he is around every single one of Seunghyun’s remarkably capable fingers.

 

Humid breath coats the patch of skin just beneath his jaw, a light grazing of teeth making his mouth fall open on a ragged sigh.

 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever told you,” Seunghyun begins, lips catching as he speaks, “how beautiful you are when you surrender yourself to me.”

 

Jiyong’s stomach clenches and swoops and he pulls against his binds, living for the fierce bite of leather into his wrists.

 

“Always so eager for anything I’m willing to dish out,” Seunghyun continues, and his hand trails a delicate path along Jiyong’s ribcage, thumb flicking over one of his nipples before pinching it roughly.

 

He hisses, arching off of the table when Seunghyun tugs and pleasure sparks with the pain.

 

“God, look at you.”

 

Another twist of his nipple has Jiyong crying out, struggling not to turn his head and take what isn’t his to take, allowing himself to suffer through the gradual drag of Seunghyun’s lips. Allowing himself to bend and curve and be manipulated.

 

“I’ve hardly even touched you and already you’re a mess,” Seunghyun murmurs, nudging closer, inhaling him.

 

The vibrations of his voice are almost worse than his fingers and Jiyong whines, shameless in his agreement. But the real test is when those lips move, ghosting up along his cheek to hover over his own mouth, Seunghyun giving and taking breath in equal measure.

 

“Such a perfect little slut,” Seunghyun exhales. “Say it for me.”

 

A violent shiver wracks Jiyong’s frame, cock twitching between his legs as his nipple gets yanked again, and he moans, euphoric.

 

“I’m--” The words snag in his throat, Seunghyun’s grip tightening still. “I’m a--”

 

He can’t think beyond sensation, whimpering loudly as he tries to concentrate, distracted by the temptation of lips--the twinge of pain and the soreness that follows.

 

Seunghyun applies the barest hint of pressure to his mouth then, coaxing. Teasing. Directly opposing the fierce twist of his fingers. “Mine,” he demands quietly. “Say it.”

 

Jiyong grits his teeth, eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold, and the words finally spill out in one continuous stream. “ _I’myourperfectlittleslut_.”  
  


The smile he feels against his lips is broad and Jiyong can’t hear much, blood rushing in his ears and heartbeat so very loud. Louder, when a slick tongue delves into his mouth, Seunghyun kissing him firmly. With intent. And it’s like being set on fire, he burns so fucking bright--this deep groan ripped from the bottom of his lungs.

 

Seunghyun’s responding laughter only adds fuel to the flame, his teeth sinking into Jiyong’s lip and pulling as he withdraws, leaving him panting.

 

Everything resonates now, his abused nipple throbbing in time with the thump of his heart and cock painfully hard. _So easy_ , he thinks, nudging further into the curve of his arm as he breathes and aches for more. Jiyong being a slut is definitely an understatement, because the hunger he feels for Seunghyun--his mouth, his touch, his murmured approval--is overwhelming in a way he doesn’t know how to control.

 

The tip of a finger grazes his wrist then, almost in answer, and his next breath hangs suspended in his lungs as it begins to travel, dragging along his forearm and down. Jiyong shudders at the light caress, biting into the flesh of his bicep when it continues, teasing its way along his side to the dip of his waist. Seunghyun traces upwards and follows the peak of his hipbone, moving lower to slip between his legs, all five fingers stroking his thigh. Jiyong bites harder and moans.

 

“All the things I could do to you like this,” Seunghyun muses, kneading the skin just below his ass. “Spread out for me in offering.”

 

A tremor shakes him at the dangerous edge to those words. The calm facade barely concealing the power Jiyong knows lies underneath. He clenches his hands into fists and resists opening his legs wide in blatant invitation.

 

“Helpless. Vulnerable.” Seunghyun’s other hand takes Jiyong roughly by the jaw, forcing his head upright, his lips once again at Jiyong’s ear as he releases a slow exhale. “My favorite toy.”

 

Jiyong comes incredibly close to blurting a desperate yes, but the vise grip holding him in place is a reminder of what would happen if he did. He whimpers instead, wishing he could see the expression on Seunghyun’s face. The dark glint in his eyes. Sharp teeth nip at Jiyong’s cheek before Seunghyun drops him and he goes limp against the table.

 

“So let’s find out what pretty noises you’ll make tonight, shall we?”

 

The floor creaks. He tenses.

 

But nothing could have prepared him for the liquid heat drizzled onto his still tender nipple, molten wax searing his skin, and Jiyong gasps, back arching as the burn pulses through him. _Fucking christ_. He groans and clenches his fists tighter.

 

It’s an attempt to steel himself, except the next drizzle of wax onto his stomach is just as surprising, and his hips jerk--a small cry forced out of him when more pools on his chest.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” Seunghyun comments idly, the candle flame nearing and another series of droplets splattering onto his ribs.

 

Jiyong hisses, body rolling with the severity of the sensation. It isn’t painful in the way a cane might bite into his flesh, leaving angry red welts and bruises that linger. Or in the way being flogged burns so nicely, the sting gratifying beyond description. But there’s still a vibrant humming under his skin and he feels invigorated by every brief flare of _hurt_ before it fades.

 

The wax cools, Jiyong’s fingers clenching and unfurling, ready for another round. What he doesn’t expect is the shock of cold when Seunghyun lazily circles an ice cube around his other nipple and he seizes up, mouth falling open. “ _Shit_ ,” Jiyong whines without thinking.

 

Seunghyun tsks and a lance of trepidation rips through him.

 

“Did I give you permission to speak?”

 

It’s so different when he can’t read the expression on Seunghyun’s face, having to go on voice alone, and he loves and hates that Seunghyun makes this difficult too--casual even in his veiled threats. The ice cube continues to circle Jiyong’s nipple, though, his muscles taut as he struggles not to squirm away. He shakes his head in answer.

 

“Out loud,” Seunghyun commands.

 

“For--” Jiyong chokes on a gasp, feeling a lick of intense heat at his side. “Forgive me, sir.”

 

A pause. The cold and the hot disappear all at once. He sucks in a much needed breath, because the prolonged silence makes him worry that it wasn’t enough. There’s nothing for him to go on right now and he does his best not to panic. But a gentle caress over his hair and the stern tone of Seunghyun’s reply leave no room for questioning.

 

“Earn it.”

 

He nods--can’t even get out an obedient “ _yes, sir_ ” before a thin waterfall of wax cascades along the inside of his left thigh. Jiyong’s legs jerk as wide as they can go, tugging at the leather cuffs around his ankles and his wrists as he shifts down the table, a tight moan leaking through gritted teeth. He doesn’t make the mistake of saying anything this time.

 

Seunghyun illustrates his pleasure in the way he touches Jiyong’s face, not as brutal when he turns Jiyong’s head towards himself. “Well done,” he murmurs, amused. “But can you keep it up?”

 

It isn’t something he’s supposed to answer; knows he has to show Seunghyun just how good he can be. Taking a calculated risk, Jiyong pushes his cheek into the hand cradling it, delighted at the slide of a thumb over his bottom lip. Except that’s when an icy wetness coats the expanse of his stomach and he doesn’t disappoint when his shock manifests in an abrupt cry.

 

“Good,” Seunghyun laughs slightly and hums, dipping the end of the cube into Jiyong’s navel and swirling. “Don’t hold back. I want it all.”

 

Jiyong gasps and pulls on his restraints, more than happy to oblige. Liquid heat splashes across his hips and a groan rolls out from his center in wordless supplication.

 

This is how he comes undone--this back and forth, never knowing what Seunghyun will do to him. It’s maddening as much as it’s fucking wonderful and Jiyong lets the sensations engulf every part of him.

 

Lost in his expert manipulations, Seunghyun doesn’t talk, but Jiyong can hear the way his breathing has gone uneven and he clings to it. The fact that Seunghyun can never quite keep his shit together during a session is almost another form of praise--intoxicating in its own right--because they compromise each other. And Jiyong thinks that’s just as dangerous as the fire that barely kisses his skin whenever Seunghyun holds the candle too close.

 

Pushing his face into the curve of his arm, Jiyong moans softly, hot wax dripping down between his legs. Legs that he spreads wider still and shudders when a molten stripe gets painted along the length of both thighs. Arousal pulses sluggishly in his gut, everything lit up and aching. A burst of cold hops over the steps in his ribcage and the switch from one extreme to the next has him practically vibrating off the table.

 

 _Fuckfuckfuck_. He whimpers, biting into his lip until it hurts more than the bitter chill. But a violent shiver wracks his frame anyway, wax drizzling onto his chest in tandem. Jiyong feels like he’s losing his grip on reality.

 

“Breathe,” Seunghyun whispers in his ear a moment later.

 

Jiyong wants to tell him that he’s trying, but all he can do is whine as that ice cube drifts lower. He shivers again and Seunghyun exhales warmth against his neck, making it worse. The ice cube passes over his abdomen on a winding path towards the base of his cock and he swears all the oxygen vanishes from the room.

 

“Breathe,” Seunghyun repeats, less whisper and more solid.

 

He listens, forcing air into his lungs, trembling. Jiyong’s jaw cracks open immediately after when the cube slips under his balls to drip freezing water into the cleft of his ass. Thighs shaking, he fights not to slam them shut--huffing, determined, stomach muscles tight.

  
  


“My little slut…” Seunghyun nuzzles at his cheek, sighing. “Do you ever get tired of working so hard to please me?”

 

Melting ice strokes his perineum slowly and Jiyong’s body can’t decide if it feels good or terrible, the cold kind of blocking out most of his pleasure, yet he can’t help but rock down into the contact, desperate.

 

“N-never, sir,” he stutters.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Seunghyun replies, voice calm--affectionate, even--but still carrying a hint of danger. He pushes harder against Jiyong’s perineum and brings his mouth to Jiyong’s ear once more. “I think you’ve earned that forgiveness,” he murmurs. “Would you like your reward?”

 

Jiyong squirms helplessly and nods. Seunghyun’s smile grazes his skin.

 

“I’m going to wrap my hand around your cock and you’re going to use it to make yourself come in less than a minute, is that understood?”

 

The words themselves are hot in his ear, at odds with the cold and fusing with the tendrils of _want_ swimming everywhere else. Jiyong swallows thickly; knows Seunghyun will hear it.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

He almost misses the ice cube when it’s gone.

 

Because now? Now Jiyong is overheating at the thought of being touched. Of releasing all this pent up tension and the resulting disconnected haze. Clenching his teeth, he shifts on the massage table to get some leverage, legs bent and feet flat. Jiyong breathes through his nose and jumps when he feels the cool press of Seunghyun’s fingers--just beneath the crown of his half-hard cock. Not too tight, but too shy of being perfect.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

His head jerks in response. Seungyun gives him a gentle squeeze and he groans.

 

“Timer starts….now.”

 

Jiyong pushes up off the table, the initial slide of his cock in Seunghyun’s palm so incredible he nearly forgets to keep going. Pleasure ripples through his gut, another burst hitting him on the way down, and he’s not sure he can actually do this. Jiyong adjusts his position, putting all his weight on his shoulders and grunts, hips pumping the air as he fucks Seunghyun’s hand. Blood rushes to his face and swells in his cock and he feels sweat begin to break out on his skin.

 

“Fifteen seconds.”

 

 _Faster_. He moans, frustrated and turned on--something wild spinning in his chest while the seconds pile up. His thighs burn and his shoulders are sore, but the pressure is mounting. It’s right there, he just has to chase it.

 

“Thirty seconds.”

 

The sly amusement in Seunghyun’s voice is distracting and Jiyong almost falters when he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You’re doing quite well.”

 

“Maybe I should make this more of a challenge,” Seunghyun muses, so nonchalant that it’s surreal.

 

Wax lands on Jiyong’s stomach suddenly, trickling fire along his body, making him shudder and jerk and lose rhythm. A groan gets stuck in his throat--arms, legs, everything shaking, his hips snapping harder and with far less precision.

 

Then wax splashes onto his chest again and Jiyong sucks in a gulp of air, the sound of Seunghyun’s entertained laughter rumbling above him.

 

He’s being teased. He’s being tested. Jiyong clenches his fists even tighter and grunts, angling his thrusts so the underside of his cock rubs firmly against Seunghyun’s thumb. Another strained noise of pleasure-coated frustration tumbles from his mouth and he concentrates.

 

“Forty-five seconds,” Seunghyun warns.

 

Jiyong’s heart races, labored breaths loud in his ears. Orgasm hovers just out of reach, but he won’t disobey orders, wants Seunghyun to be proud of him, needs those sweet words of satisfaction when he behaves. He can’t be a disappointment.

 

“...fifty-two seconds…”

 

The pressure coils and Jiyong lifts fully off the table, holding himself up and bucking in quick, shallow thrusts.

 

“...fifty-seven seconds…”

 

His climax blindsides him at fifty-eight seconds, Jiyong going painfully stiff before he falls, twisted on his side. He’s vaguely aware of murmured praise--of the hand petting his head and the other now stroking his cock, coaxing him through it. He trembles, panting against the inside of his arm, hips twitching involuntarily, and the world surges oddly in his ears as he turns soft. Pliant. As he sinks into the darkness behind closed eyelids.

 

Time bends and passes. Jiyong is one gigantic, thumping pulse and it dominates his senses. Occasionally he registers a faint touch somewhere on his body. Being rolled over, the clink of metal distant and fuzzy.

 

“...Jiyong.”

 

He hears his name, but he’s too far away to answer.

 

A weird pulling at his skin confuses him while he floats. Then something caresses his arm and folds around his hand, his fingers squeezed firmly once and then twice. Jiyong knows he should know what that is.

 

Damp and warm ghosts against the shell of his ear, inducing a shiver he has no control over.

 

“Come back to me, sweetheart.”

 

The whispered voice melts in him and around him and he feels full, his thumping pulse of a body expanding with it.

 

 _Breathe_.

 

Jiyong inhales deeply. Two more hand squeezes.

 

He squeezes back, but he can’t remember why.

 

“That’s it,” the voice encourages.

 

Fingers smooth over his hair and Jiyong realizes that his eyes are uncovered. _The blindfold_. He takes in another breath--feels lighter. Awareness returns slowly and he stretches as it flows through him, arching his neck and rolling his shoulders.

 

When he opens his eyes, the room is dim, the air still thick. Seunghyun smiles down at him, thumb rubbing circles into his temple. Jiyong’s lips curve at the corners and he pulls on his hand, Seunghyun climbing onto the massage table without hesitation, and the weight of his clothed body is everything.

 

He lets himself be tucked and fitted and manhandled into familiar contours, half present and half absent but overjoyed to finally be cocooned in Seunghyun’s embrace. Seunghyun, who doesn’t ask him questions, only exists as Jiyong needs him to exist--his source of comfort; a haven. Face buried in warm skin, he breathes. Breathes and lingers in his favorite part of limbo while a steady heartbeat reminds him where to go when he wants to come back.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


A gentle grip ushers him into the bathroom almost an hour later. Jiyong’s not fully functional yet, but he’s getting there, and the warm spray of the shower does wonders. Those hands, too. _God, your hands_. Seunghyun rubs him down every time and every time he thinks he could actually die like this. Tonight the process is even more thorough than usual because of the hardened wax stuck to his skin and Jiyong relaxes against Seunghyun’s chest while the man painstakingly works at each little chunk--kneading into sore muscles as he goes.

 

Jiyong moans drowsily, grinning when Seunghyun pauses now and again to drag his lips along Jiyong’s neck. To nibble at the lobe of his ear and leave kisses in his hair. When it’s time for his thighs, Seunghyun rests him against the tiles and mouths at the pink marks left behind until Jiyong doubts his ability to stand on his own.

 

“How are you feeling?” Seunghyun asks, massaging his calf.

 

Jiyong’s lips twitch as he looks down at the man on his knees, a subtle thrill riding his spine at the image. How they switch roles in the smallest ways. Lifting a hand, he slides it through Seunghyun’s hair, slicking the salt and pepper wisps behind his ears.

 

“Cherished,” Jiyong responds, watching Seunghyun’s face closely.

 

He’s gifted beautiful, flushed cheeks that he knows have nothing to do with humidity and the spread of a boyish smile against the inside of his knee when a kiss gets dropped there, too.

 

His heart flutters. Because it never ceases to amaze him that Seunghyun is so many things at once. More amazing, that he’s so generous with every single part. As Seunghyun stands, fingers curling around his waist, Jiyong wonders if he’s the only one who gets to see all of them.

 

Leaning in, Seunghyun brushes his lips over Jiyong’s brow. “That’s not the answer I was looking for, but I’ll take it,” he mumbles.

 

Jiyong huffs. “Next time, be more specific.”

 

“Brat.”

 

A smile tugs at his mouth and he sways into him, aiming for a kiss, but Seunghyun pulls back at the last second, eyes dancing. He doesn’t pout, even though he wants to.

 

“I thought I was your perfect little slut,” Jiyong drawls.

 

Seunghyun chuckles lazily and sighs, nosing forward again, crowding him into the shower wall. “Shut up,” he mutters quietly against Jiyong’s lips.

 

There’s a single beat where a swoop of vertigo cartwheels through his stomach right before the distance vanishes and he latches onto Seunghyun’s neck with both hands. Because he’s pinned to the tiles but he still feels like he’s about to fall, mouth parting eagerly when a slick tongue begins to wander. Arousal spreads through him at a slow crawl, the press of Seunghyun’s body nothing short of sublime, and he feels an answering hardness dig into his hip as he arches closer. A small moan spills from Jiyong’s mouth. Seunghyun kisses him harder and he shudders, legs weak.

 

Though the moment Seunghyun grinds against him, breath hitching and fingers moving to sink into the flesh of his ass, he makes a choice. It’s a bold choice, but he wants Seunghyun to feel good too. Wants him to feel cared for, like he cares for Jiyong, and he lets his hands travel down from Seunghyun’s neck, easing him away slightly.

 

Seunghyun raises his eyebrows, expression dopey and adorably put out and Jiyong chews on his bottom lip, anxious. Touch drifting, he explores the planes of Seunghyun’s chest--pauses to roll a pierced nipple under his thumb. Jiyong revels in the flutter of eyelashes and the knowing smirk that curls onto his face.

 

Watching Seunghyun watch him, he brings his other hand lower, mapping toned muscle, the backs of his knuckles grazing Seunghyun’s cock.

 

“Careful,” Seunghyun murmurs.

 

Jiyong slides his fingers into the thick hair at the base, gaze steady. Challenging. Seunghyun’s smirk deepens and he plants his hands on either side of Jiyong’s head.

 

This, right here….this is where the lines blur.

 

Because they’re not in the middle of a session and yet the dynamic always remains. Because he can tease all he likes, but Seunghyun will always be his dominant and Jiyong will always want to ask for permission. And it’s moments like these--like the very first night they were together--that he loves so much because it feels natural. _Real_. Like this is how they’re meant to be at all times, and he honestly doesn’t want it any other way.

 

So he pushes--ever so slightly fitting Seunghyun’s cock between his index and middle finger, applying pressure. “Let me,” Jiyong begs.

 

Seunghyun smiles now, hips canting forward as he ducks low to trail his nose over Jiyong’s cheek.

 

“Come on, then, little slut,” Seunghyun utters, voice like velvet in his ears. “Get me off.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, wasting no time and wrapping his hand around the shaft.

 

Jiyong earns himself a surprised moan when he strokes Seunghyun roughly, the man curving into him, foreheads locked tight and mouths centimeters apart. He works Seunghyun in all the ways he knows he likes best and smears precome into his skin, tracing the crown and dragging his thumb against the sensitive vein underneath.

 

He whines, pumps his fist faster. “Fuck, I love your cock.”

 

A choked laugh spills out of Seunghyun as he pants, the gusts of heat hitting Jiyong’s lips, making him hungry, and he rocks up onto the balls of his feet. It’s messier and more desperate and the invasion of Seunghyun’s tongue is so gratifying he wants to pause time. Exist here for a little bit. Feel like this for a little longer--powerful, overpowered, needed. But then Seunghyun moans again, nibbling on his lip, and now all he can think about is the thickness of Seunghyun’s swollen cock filling his mouth.

 

He starts to move, sliding against the wall with the intention of getting on his knees. Except a firm hand is quick to stop him, five long fingers grasping his neck and hauling him upright.

 

“No,” Seunghyun rasps, forehead finding Jiyong’s again. “I want you here.”

 

The grip on his throat isn’t enough to cut off his air, but it’s close, each inhale strained and thin. Jiyong thrives on it, suddenly less drowsy and attuned to every thrill that tingles up from the base of his spine. He lets his lips catch on Seunghyun’s as he strokes him--twisting his palm over the crown, teasing his length with the tips of his fingers, drinking in every ragged sigh.

 

When Jiyong tugs on one of the metal hoops piercing Seunghyun’s nipple, fist tightening around his cock, Seunghyun jams his face into Jiyong’s and comes with a fractured groan.

 

“ _Jesuschrist_.”

 

He grins, breathing deep as Seunghyun’s hand drops to circle his waist. Jiyong holds him, too, both arms bringing him flush. The sound of their harsh exhales mingle with the sound of water hitting the shower floor and he savors the unexpected gravity of the moment.

 

Puckered fingers caress softened skin. Hearts calm, bodies go lax. Seunghyun kisses him boneless and Jiyong finds balance in dark, reverent eyes.

  
  
  
  


Eventually, they withdraw in wordless agreement, rinsing off and stepping out of the shower. They take their time getting dressed--sleep clothes sticking to damp limbs--and then migrate downstairs into the kitchen. It isn’t until Seunghyun is halfway through preparing dinner that Jiyong musters the courage to speak his mind, legs swinging aimlessly from his perch on the counter.

 

He chews on an already ravaged fingernail and fumbles for how to express himself, despite having thought about it again and again for days on end. Jiyong knows his nerves are stupid. He knows and yet he can’t quit worrying, because this is so important. To him, at least. Jiyong thinks it’s important to Seunghyun as well, but since they’ve never really discussed it, he can’t be sure.

 

Of course, none of this passes under the radar.

 

“Are you going to talk to me, or do I have to guess what’s bothering you?” Seunghyun asks, attention devoted to stirring the pot of marinara sauce on the stove.

 

Jiyong huffs a short laugh and stares down at his dangling feet. He doesn’t respond, because he hasn’t figured out how to say it yet, and then the burner flicks off. Seunghyun sets the pot to the side and covers it--insinuates himself into the spot between Jiyong’s legs, fingers quick to tangle with his.

 

“Jiyong, we’ve been through this.”

 

“I know,” he replies, forcing himself to lift his head and meet Seunghyun’s gaze.

 

Seunghyun smiles wryly. “I’m assuming this isn’t dinner conversation.”

 

“No,” Jiyong laughs again, a bit shaky. His stomach knots with anxious energy and his hands twitch in the other man’s grasp.

 

“Then what is it?” Seunghyun prods, holding him still.

 

There’s nothing but solid warmth emitting from those dark eyes, nothing but encouragement in the slide of a thumb against the inside of his wrist. Jiyong lets his eyelids drift shut for a moment, gathering all of his thoughts as he breathes in. When he glances up, Seunghyun nods, and he clings to the encouragement offered.

 

“I think--” he blurts and then stops, adjusting his word choice. “I _want_ us to change the rules.”

 

The admittance makes Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise. Jiyong doesn’t allow it to trip him up and he bravely barrels on, focus darting around the room as the words spill.

 

“There’s too much between us to keep pretending that this is easy,” he explains. “I don’t want you to hold back when you feel the urge to be gentle during a session. Just like I wouldn’t expect you to hold back if you felt the urge to give me an order right now.”

 

Jiyong sucks in another breath, giving Seunghyun a pointed look and squeezing their hands in emphasis.

 

“Because I’ll always kneel, you know I will, but sometimes I just need _you_ more than I need anything else. And that means all of it. The Dom, the artist, the philanthropist, the curator, the goofy, sarcastic asshole and the huge fucking dork that I’m pretty sure no one else knows about--”

 

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun chuckles, cutting him off before he can keep going, and shyly ducks his head.

 

He notices the heat creeping into Seunghyun’s cheeks, chewing at his lip while he waits, pulse hammering away. It’s not like he thinks Seunghyun is about to tell him he’s crazy, it’s that he pretty much just slammed his heart down on a platter and he’s curious to see exactly what Seunghyun will do with it.

 

Clearing his throat, Seunghyun leans in then. “Are you saying you want this twenty-four seven?”

 

“I’m saying...“ Jiyong starts, concentrating intently on their linked fingers. “That I love you and that I know we can handle it.”

 

An exhilarated tingle ripples through him. Seunghyun frees one hand to tuck a finger under Jiyong’s chin.

 

“Look at me,” Seunghyun coaxes.

 

He does.

 

“Say it again.”

 

Jiyong’s mouth parts, a shuddered exhale leaking out.

 

“I love you.”

 

And in the next instant, he swears he can actually feel something in Seunghyun change--something in the way his eyes spark with light before he sinks forward. Jiyong welcomes the press of Seunghyun’s incandescent face against his.

 

“My sweet boy,” Seunghyun murmurs.

 

The endearment coats the inside of his chest like liquid happiness and he grins, reaching for Seunghyun’s hip, pulling as he nuzzles closer.

 

“I love you too, you know.”

 

“Yeah.” Jiyong’s stomach clenches and he tries not to laugh. “I feel it every time you cane me.”

 

Seunghyun almost snorts. “Mouthy little shit.”

 

“You adore my mouth.”

 

Drawing back, Seunghyun quirks a brow, moving to touch the swell of his bottom lip. “Too much, I think,” he muses.

 

Jiyong nips at the edge of his thumb--contemplates sucking on it to prove his point--but the flicker of warning across Seunghyun’s face is enough to dissuade him and he opts for a kiss instead.

 

Dizzy joy whirls in his chest, arms and legs wrapping around Seunghyun, not wanting to give up even an inch.

 

“So,” Jiyong prompts, lips still brushing against soft skin.

 

“We’ll, um, we’ll have to discuss the finer details, but I...accept your proposal.”

 

Seunghyun sounds thoroughly distracted and he drags his smirk along the side of his neck, humming when Seunghyun threads long fingers into his hair.

 

“I suppose that just leaves one more question,” Seunghyun adds, mumbling.

 

“And what’s that?” Jiyong sighs.

 

“Would you like to move in with me?”

 

He freezes, mouth hovering at Seunghyun’s jaw, speechless.

 

He’s too giddy for words and Jiyong can only cling a bit tighter, hooking his chin over a broad shoulder. Seunghyun’s hand finds its way under wet strands to settle at his nape. He closes his eyes. Jiyong traces a ‘YES’ into the curve of Seunghyun’s spine and smiles widely when an elated laugh rumbles against him, filling him up.

  
  



End file.
